Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead
by Queen
Summary: Luminous beings are we...not this crude matter.
1. Prologue: The Last Thing She Heard

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>Prologue: The Last Thing She Heard<p>

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><p>Whenever there was a battle, there was always the chance that someone would fall.<p>

Death stalked the battlefields, close and hungry, ever present. If Ahsoka ever took the time to think about it, death would, perhaps, have felt more ominous. But it surrounded her every time she lit her lightsabers, every time she readied her stance and prepared to charge, to defend, to attack. Death was a familiar presence, and a Jedi was not supposed to feel fear. Battle, though, always quickened her heartbeat, set it pounding in her chest and sometimes up into her throat where it caught her breath and strangled her.

It did so now.

There was always a chance someone would fall, and they so often did. Rex was not supposed to be one of those, catching a shot to the chest before spilling onto the ground, haphazard and broken, his descent eerily backlit by the flush of red blaster fire.

A Jedi was not supposed to be attached to things, to people. Years spent together, though, created bonds that did not need to be acknowledged to exist, did not need to be spoken of to be real, did not need to be addressed to be honest.

She screamed, and the world screamed with her. The concussive blast of ordinance boomed across the field, tearing apart stone and earth and sending chunks flying into smoke clogged air. The pastel haze of their deflector shield began to shear away above, ribbons of energy pulling apart and letting in the florid light of a setting sun and the wild display of firepower warring in the planet's exosphere. White armored troopers stormed through the scrubland, tearing up underbrush with booted feet as they raced to return red fire with blue.

If anyone heard her screaming _"Medic!"_, they did not respond; the generator was down, their defenses were shredded, and if the battle now raging in space did not go well, they were open to orbital bombardment.

Death was close, sending cool whispers down sweat laden necks and promising peace.

She knelt; it was a dangerous thing to do, she knew. One leg down, one leg out, primary lightsaber held defensively, she was poised to leap back into battle, to defend the man sprawled on the ground. In the chaos, two, then three men in white armor saw their Commander stooping over their Captain, and took up defensive positions around them, providing cover. Another blast pounded into the ground nearby, throbbing and unsettling her precarious position. She cast a glance around; the ground was uneven and rocky in places. She could pull him behind the nearest set of stones, take some shelter, pull off his helmet, check his pulse and get a _shabla_ _medic_ –

Her lightsaber slipped out of her hand. Her fingers bent back, opening, as the silver cylinder rolled off her palm and down, the green light of it guttering off as it struck Rex's chestplate and tumbled down into the dirt. She staggered a second time, dropping down onto both knees, her hands coming up to hover in the air as she wobbled, vaguely trying to balance herself, stay upright. She reached out but grasped only air. Rex lay still beyond her hands, and the dirt stained, burnt orange of her fingers contrasted neatly against the dirtied blue of his armor. Then he was no longer beyond her, and she was laying beside him, and the lower rim of his helmet was very close. She could see its' curve, arching upward around his chin.

She'd been hit. It couldn't be too bad, though. There was no pain.

The last thing she heard was Master Skywalker screaming her name.

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><p>Welcome, all, to the new fic.<p>

This story began drafting during the summer of 2011, prior to the beginning of TCW Season 4, so there will likely be some canon conflicts with any new happenings in-series. Yes, I write slow. Blame grad school.

And of course, as I'm sure you all know by now, I'm not George Lucas. I do have a few rather nifty pictures taken with some stormtroopers (including one wearing a red tutu), but that's about as close to owning Star Wars as I get.

Do enjoy.

~Queen


	2. Where It Ends

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>"<em>Eternity's a terrible thought. I mean, where's it all going to end?"<em>

_-Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_

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><p>Chapter 1. Where It Ends<p>

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><p>It began with the sound of wind.<p>

She heard it first, rustling through tree branches quietly, accompanied by a soft, almost crackling noise. She felt it second, the coolness of the breeze setting long blades of grass twitching at the dark tips of her montrals. Her white brows drew together, and she began to hear words overlap the soft sound of the wind.

"…soka. Ahsoka. Commander?"

She stirred. Her nose wrinkled, her brows pulled downward, and her lips quirked into a frown.

Her name was called again, more insistently, this time accompanied by someone shaking her shoulder firmly. "Commander!"

She cracked her eyes open, blearily. For a moment, sunlight pierced her vision, and she winced, squinting until a shape appeared overhead and blocked the light. She kept her eyes narrowed until they adapted and the shadowed shape began to focus into the familiar outline of a helmet.

"Rex?"

He drew back slightly, and she flinched again as light returned to strike her eyes. She realized Rex was still gripping her by the hand and the shoulder, and she began to struggle upright; he helped by pulling her up until they were both sitting. She placed her free hand over her eyes for a moment, rubbing them, and slowly, the haze began to clear.

Turning her head, she looked at him for a long moment as the disorientation faded. Then her eyes widened and she placed a hand on his chest, running her fingers across the chestplate, frantically. "I saw you go down!"

There was no dirt smeared on his armor; there was no carbon scoring, no sign of flash burns or a puncture where the blast penetrated his plating and cut into him. She ran a hand across the armor. Smooth, unblemished, perfect. _Shiny_. Had Rex's armor _ever_ been shiny?

Rex caught her hand in his. "I'm _fine_, kid."

She bit her lip, looking at him in dismay. His helmet on, she could not see his expression, but judging by his light tone, he found her concern amusing. He didn't believe her. She wasn't sure she believed it herself. Her wrist caught, she stared at the smooth surface of his chestplate, then at their hands. His gauntlets, like the rest of his armor, were undamaged and clean. Her hands, though they looked the same as always - small, tapered and callused –were also clean. A quick inspection of her own clothing revealed no damage, no dirt from the battle. "Rex," she said slowly, "something is wrong."

He responded to her statement by asking, "Where are we?"

Ahsoka grimaced. She was checking them over instead of checking out their location. Stupid. They were in the middle of a battlefield.

Except they weren't.

They were in a valley, lush with wild green grass instead of dingy grey scrub brush. Great limestone cliffs ringed the distance, jutting upwards towards the sky, their peaks tipped with vibrant viridian flora. The sun was warm and bright overhead. Islands of stone defied gravity at random intervals, each massive boulder caught in some unseen gravitational flux, hefted into the air and maintained there, floating idly and slowly rotating in the distance. There were trees, too, that should have seemed spindly and wicked from much twisting, but they were rich in the pinks and yellows of spring blossoms, the flowers bursting from the knotty branches and into many petaled arrays of color and perfume. The air was sweet and clear, but silent save for the sound of the wind and the slow crackling of the twisted trees, so rapidly losing their blossoms. Ahsoka's hands relaxed, then she twisted them around to clutch Rex's.

The trees were aging. The bright pink and yellow petals were losing their blooms, petals catching on the wind and drifting into the grass. The richer greens of summer were replacing the flowers already, the trees deepening into darker foliage even as she watched. It was too swift, too unnatural.

She knew this place, and knew to fear it. Swallowing, she said, softly, "This is –"

"Mortis. Yes."

The rich, gentle voice reverberated in the air, and Ahsoka and Rex spun, seeking out of the source and finding it standing not far away, in a space that was, a moment ago, empty. Ahsoka remembered the glow Daughter carried with her, but that soft sheen of light was now a luminescence that flowed from her like moonlight, spilling soft and white and cool all around her. The grass seemed to grow higher, reaching up for her fingertips, and the summer trees and bushes in their greenery clicked and clattered as they stretched towards her. The long skirt of her gown seemed to blend in to the surface of the earth on which she stood, and as she moved further forward, she did not seem to take steps, but instead to float, gliding on a pleasant breeze. The long length of her sea-colored hair flowed behind her as she approached, and her face softened into a warm smile of pink lips and pond green eyes.

It was hard to tell where, exactly, she ended and their surroundings began, so close in tone was the brightness of her skin and the brightness of the day.

Rex tensed into alertness, reaching for his blasters; Ahsoka gripped his elbow and tugged him backward. Rex would not know where he was, or who this woman was, only that he wasn't where he was supposed to be, and glowing beings of light were not exactly normal. His hands closed over the empty holsters at his hips; there were no weapons on his belt. Friendlies didn't take away your weapons, and Rex would know this and likely assume the Daughter was a threat. She strengthened her grip, slipping her other arm around his chest to do what she could to restrain him without actually yanking him backwards. "No, Rex, it's okay. She's not the one to worry about."

"Then where are my blasters?" he growled, not removing his attention from the pale figure before him.

Daughter responded easily, her voice still carrying the layered, stereophonic quality of an echo. "They are gone; you will not need them here." Her gaze moved from Rex to Ahsoka, and she continued, "My brother is not here, now. You have no need to fear him."

Ahsoka repressed a shudder. She didn't fear Daughter, but Son was terrifying, and invoked memories she did not want to relive. The family of Force-wielders had nothing to fear from a blaster or a lightsaber, but she reached down to touch hers for reassurance, regardless.

They were also gone, both saber and _shoto_. She looked at her waist in dismay, then up again at Daughter, who said, mildly, "They are gone; you no longer need such things."

Nothing about Mortis made sense the first time she was there, and nothing about Mortis was good, save perhaps the Daughter and her Father. Was this just another part of Mortis that was trying to mess with her head? She'd had enough of that the first time, and no desire to relive the experience. Ahsoka tightened her grip on Rex, pulling him back; even if Daughter wasn't a threat, there was no need to antagonize her. "Mortis is gone. It disappeared. If this is Mortis, then _where_ is Mortis?"

Daughter looked away, casting her gaze longwise towards a thicket of trees. They seemed trapped in their summer form now, the green foliage unleashing denser leaves and the branches aching higher, growing rapidly as new leaves raced up the black wood. "Mortis is, and always shall be, a conduit of the Force. It is a bridge between places and a nexus of power." She lifted a bright hand, and the frantically growing trees slowed, the crackling sound of frenetically growing life easing as the plants seemed to relax, stabilize, and deepen into rich shades of jade. Daughter continued, "With the deaths of myself, my brother, and my father, it no longer needed to exist in a physical realm. This place is now the crossing point between the realm of the living and the Netherworld of the Force."

Ahsoka felt Rex's tension ease, his body shifting under the plates of armor he wore, but she suspected the motion was from disbelief or confusion rather than calm.

_Netherworld_. She shook her head. She was alive; she could feel the dirt under her knees, feel Rex's armor under her hands, feel the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the breeze. She wasn't dead. _Rex_ wasn't dead. He was right here. Besides, when you die, you become one with the Force – you don't go visit unpleasant, dangerous locations like Mortis. She wasn't dead. She _couldn't _be dead.

"That's impossible –"

"You know it is true," Daughter said, her attention returning to the pair kneeling in the grass that was growing so swiftly around them, and there was _honesty_ in her words. "Witnessed his death, felt yourself die." She lifted a hand, then made a slight lowering gesture, and the grass slowed its growth. Daughter laced her fingers together and held them before her, waist-high. _Sadness_ flowed from her, and _tiredness_, and the feelings broke over Ahsoka like a wave.

Rex looked away from the glowing figure before him, and to Ahsoka, who returned his stare. Ahsoka did not let go of his shoulders, but leaned back, and they looked each other over. Rex saw now what Ahsoka saw before; there was no damage to his armor, no dirt, no evidence of the battle they should be enduring. Ahsoka's montrals were pale, ash grey instead of charcoal as they bowed in towards him, and there was no sign of battle on her, either. He looked again at the woman before them, and Ahsoka did the same.

Ahsoka's voice was not steady when she asked, "Does everyone stop here now, before they join the Force?"

"You have always been a part of the Force," she replied, a small smile curving her lips upward, but it did not replace the tiredness of her expression. Still, there was some amusement there, and she lifted her hands, fingers still twined between each other. She met Ahsoka's eyes, though she inclined her head towards Rex, her hair bobbing fluidly behind her. "He is here because you refuse to leave him behind. You are here because I am here, and some shadow of me lingers on in you."

The hand on her forearm was gripping her with a slowly tightening hold, and it was as much confusion or fear as Rex ever let himself show. It worried in his belly, a small, tight _fear_ twisted within a skirting of _numbness_, and Ahsoka struggled to maintain some semblance of calm. She breathed heavily, slowly, trying to think clearly. There was too much to consider at once.

She had always been a part of the Force. Alright, technically that was true. All beings were a part of the Force from birth. Wordplay.

Rex was here because she refused to leave him behind. Of course she did; that was why she stopped on the battlefield, even knowing the risk.

Master had never explained fully what happened on Mortis, during the time her memories were clouded; only that she'd been somehow drugged by the bite of the Son, grown violent, and Daughter had healed her even as she herself died. The memory was a dark spot, unclear. She cast a new, nervous look towards Daughter.

"You brought us here?" Rex asked, cautiously.

She shook her head. "Not intentionally," Daughter replied, looking at Ahsoka, even as she answered Rex's question. "On the Mortis of the past, when the life in my body was fading, your Master transferred the last of it into you, to revive you. I am the embodiment of the Light Side of the Force. All that it is, is within me, and so I cannot truly die, even when my body is gone." She slipped forward another step, the light around her flowing with her and from her as she moved. "Some of my light lingers within you. You are drawing on that energy to hold your shape." She turned again towards Rex and added, "And his."

They eased backward together, back down into the grass until they were sitting rather than kneeling.

If this was the Netherworld, they were not in their bodies. There was a word for such a creature, a soul adrift without a living body to contain it: _ghost_.

Rex's hand moved up and down Ahsoka's arm, consolingly, if distractedly. Ahsoka turned her head away.

Ghost. _Dead_. There was a finality to the words that made her shudder. Their lives were over. There was nothing left. As a ghost, what could she do? What could either of them do? The war was still raging through the galaxy, their friends were caught up in battle, and they were helpless to help. There would be no Knighthood for her, there would be no victory at the end of the war for either of them, there would be no future. She would not learn the next set of Shien kata, she would not ever learn to tolerate meditating, she would not someday wear the long robes of a Jedi Master, she would not have a Padawan of her own, she would not be called "Master Tano." Gone too was the present. She would not train with Master Skywalker, would not listen to him and Master Kenobi bicker, would not joke with either of them, would not share a cup of tea with Master Kenobi after a well fought battle, would not be able to chat with Barriss at the Temple when their paths crossed, would not be able to visit with Master Plo in the gardens. She would not be able to call Master Skywalker 'Skyguy' anymore, when it was late, and no one was around, and they were more Anakin and Ahsoka than Master and Padawan.

She wouldn't be there to watch his back. Wouldn't be there to catch his mistakes or remind him every day he was human and mortal and didn't need to feel responsible for winning the war singlehandedly. She wouldn't be there to counter his recklessness with her own.

How could she let that go?

Death was never far, but it was supposed to _wait_ – even if it was only until she was fully grown. A stray blaster shot was all it took to kill her. Such a small death. She didn't strive for glory, not really, but somehow, she expected her death would involve…more.

She closed her eyes and felt her forehead come down on Rex's shoulder. Rex had no future either, and no present. Ahsoka scrunched her eyes up, tightly, to black out her vision, but found, strangely, there were stars scattered behind her closed eyelids, brightening the usual black. She was glad not to be alone. She wouldn't break down in front of Rex, and he wouldn't break down in front of her. They'd keep up a front for each other. They were stronger together, and she could feel that sense of _strength_ flow between them as they leaned together in confusion. She wasn't alone.

Rex's voice was a rumble in his chest, and she was close enough to feel it. "What do we do, then? Stay here? Let go and try to…" he paused, and Ahsoka pulled back enough to see the uncertain set of his shoulders. "Try to disappear?"

"That is up to you," Daughter said, bowing her head and closing her eyes. "You may not understand it, yet, but you are far more powerful now than you know." Her fingers slipped from between each other, and her hands fell to her sides. "You have a choice," she said heavily. "Mortis is only a gateway now. An island in the Force. You may submerge yourselves entirely with the Force and rest – or you may return to the physical world and continue your struggle. It is your decision. You have a choice."

Ahsoka looked at Rex, and Rex looked at Ahsoka. The world around them crackled as it grew out of summer and into autumn. The grass slowed its struggle upwards and began to curl back down, losing some of its vibrancy, even as the trees began to turn colors; orange and red and yellow, their greenness draining back into the stems and branches that supported them as sap flowed down into the roots. The air took a chill and bluster, and the sky turned from blue day into purple twilight. Daughter remained, unchanged, bright and glowing, amid the swirl of seasons and the shifting hours.

Ahsoka said to Rex, "I want to go home."

And with those words, they disappeared.

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><p>So, a lot of exposition in this chapter. I don't generally like loading everything into one place, but I couldn't figure out a better way of doing so here. Things will be a bit better spaced out from this point.<p>

~Queen


	3. Luminous Beings

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>"<em>Luminous beings are we. Not this crude matter."<em>

_-Yoda_

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><p>Chapter 2. Luminous Beings<p>

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><p>"This is home?"<p>

Ahsoka opened her eyes, looked up at Rex, and found him alight. A brightness was surrounding him like a halo, warm and luminescent, like a sunlit sky on a clear day. It shone out from his head, still helmeted, down his armored arms, torso and legs. He was looking away when he spoke, but at her startled gasp, he turned to look down at her, and he stiffened, tensing at the sight of Ahsoka's similarly glowing form.

She leaned backward to see him more clearly, and found that where the faint radiance reached his hands, there was a different glow emanating as well, one whirling in similar shades of blue, but rather than the yellowy warmth of the sun, there was an aquamarine hue swirling inside of it.

Releasing one of his hands, she lifted hers up, turning it back and forth. She was radiating light, a deep, but definite kind of crystalline cerulean with undertones of aqua. The colors streamed from her fingertips, tracked her motions and clung to her slightly translucent skin as she gently waved her hand back and forth, watching the way the light moved with her and emanated from her. Her usual, warm Togruta tones of burnt umber were incased in those cooler shades.

A second hand joined hers, and she could more clearly see the colors rising from Rex's diaphanous hand. White armor was surrounded by light blue with strands of yellow sunlight coursing through.

What was it that the Jedi taught? She remembered from her long-ago classes: _The spirit is bright_.

Rex was inspecting her as much as she was inspecting him, each of them holding the other slightly outward, as the tilt of Rex's head moved from down to up, taking in multi-colored radiance she emitted, much as she drank in the sight of him. He reached for her hovering hand and pressed his palm against hers. The brightness increased, as seaside colors blended with those of a sunny sky, all merging and twisting around each other like a kaleidoscope.

She could not help but smile. Rex's luminosity was beautiful. She saw his shoulders ease, and she could feel his _awe_ when he said, "We're glowing."

"At the Temple, we're taught that the spirit is luminous."

They were dead, and they were alight.

When Ahsoka finally turned away from Rex and the interplay of their ghost-light, she found that they were in her room. It was dark, but slowly, there was a brightness filling the space, flowing from their lambent bodies. They were small, her quarters on the _Resolute_, with just enough room to turn around beside her bunk, which jutted from one wall and was covered in a light grey blanket. There was a small desk with a computer console for her use, whether it was to interact with the ship's computer, or to communicate with the various computers at the Jedi Temple. She didn't spend as much time as she should studying, but when she had time, and energy, and Master Skywalker badgered her into it, she caught up on what she could.

Her spare pair of boots was tucked into the corner where her bunk met the wall, the knee-high tops flopping over. The door to her tiny refresher was ajar. One of the drawers under the bed wasn't closed completely, and a corner of the poncho she used in cold or rainy weather was sticking out. Her handheld holoprojector was sitting on the narrow ledge that ran around the room, off.

Everything was as she left it, though now cast in softly shifting shades of cerulean, viridian and gold. The Jedi Temple was where she belonged, but for two years, the _Resolute_ was where she lived and worked. "I guess this is home," Ahsoka said, looking down at her bunk. The blanket was slightly rumpled; she'd tucked it in that morning, but in a hurry. She began to pull away from Rex, to smooth the creases, but stopped before her foot touched the ground again. She sent a worried look at Rex, then down at their illuminated hands. He was clutching her fingers. She eased back and clasped his hand more firmly. She wasn't going to let go.

"It's your home, too, though, isn't it? The _Resolute_?" she asked him, her voice a little uneven. Dead. _Dead, dead, dead_. Ghost. Were they so unnatural, though? The light seemed anything but unnatural, in its soft beauty. But she wanted to be home, and now they were on the _Resolute_. Did that mean they'd made a choice? Decided to return? Would they be able to return to Mortis, would they be able to join the Force again someday, later? Was this a mistake? Were they going to haunt the _Resolute_ for all eternity, now? What were they supposed to _do_, anyway?

Rex was answering the question she asked aloud. "I suppose it is. More my home than Kamino, anyway. Never really lived anywhere else."

Her room ached with emptiness, even filled with light from its occupants. There was a scattering of dust, and it looked perfectly lived in, like she would be returning at any moment to flop down onto her bunk and sleep off the rigors of the last battle. She wanted to flop down on it now, curl up into a ball, pull the blanket up as high over her montrals as it would go, and just sit in the dark and warmth and maybe cry awhile. Rex could come too, though he probably wouldn't fit on the bunk.

Did they even have mass anymore? They seemed to be made of light, but she could feel Rex's hand in hers. Could she move through walls? Did she _want_ to move through walls? Did she need to? They seemed to teleport from Mortis to here with just a thought. Could she just think, "_Mortis!_" and they would be whisked back there? Not that she really wanted to see Mortis again. "Netherworld of the Force"? Did that count as an actual location? Was it populated by a thousand generations of dead Jedi?

Ahsoka reached out and placed a bright hand on the top of her computer console, the shape of her fingers standing out starkly against the grey surface. She could feel the hum of the system through the ship, and the slight warmth from the current of power that fed the machine, but it was the faint warmth that came from a sleeping console, not an active one. It didn't switch on at her touch, or even when she thought, "_On!_" at it.

She shook her head. "So much for spooking."

Rex peered around her, trying to see her face. "Spooking, sir?"

He said it so curiously, she actually smiled. "Yeah. You know, like in the holos. Turning lights on and off, wailing. Horror holo stuff."

His head tilted to one side, and Ahsoka really wished she could see his face. Was he stuck in that helmet for all eternity, too? Was she stuck in this outfit for the rest of time? She snickered, pressing a hand to her mouth. It was ludicrous. Was this what ghosts worried about? Rex's shoulders eased, and his head tilted to the other side. "I'm glad you find this amusing."

Her smile grew sad and she sighed. "Not really. What do we do now?"

They stood in silence, neither knowing the answer to that question. Back to Mortis? Try to question Daughter? If so, ask her what? Take a stroll through the _Resolute_? Sit in Ahsoka's empty quarters in silence? They'd returned from a battle, but not really. None of the usual post-battle traditions applied. There was no need to go to the mess, to eat. No need to hit the showers, to wash away the blood and the grit. No need to go to the bridge, to give a report or a debriefing.

No desire to go to the medbay, and see who else didn't make it. No desire to go to the morgue, and see their own remains.

Ahsoka looked longingly at her bed. Sleep. She could use a nice, long nap right now.

Except she had no body to feel tired. The passage of a few hours to the restorative qualities of sleep was denied to both of them. She pressed a hand to her face, and felt Rex's hand tighten around her other one.

The door slid open with a mechanical whisper, and a rectangle of light stretched throughout the room. A moment later, the doorway darkened, and a figure filled it, a swath of burdened _weight_ rolling into the room like a wave from its shadow. The florescent light that ran around the ledge in her room flickered on, and the room was cast into a sharp contrast of white light and grey gloom. The figure stepped inside, and the door closed behind him.

Ahsoka's first thought was: _Master Skywalker looks terrible_.

Anakin was disheveled. He was clean, indicating he'd been back on the _Resolute_ for a few hours at least, but a shower did not appear to do anything for his expression or the way he carried himself. He carried a bleak _weight_ with him, a crushing _gravity_ that Ahsoka felt in her shoulders, pushing them down as though someone had placed a heavy yoke on her. His hair was shaggy, in that unkempt way it could become when it was washed but unbrushed, prone to both clumping and flyaway strands. His tunic was unevenly belted, either from haste or inattention. His shoulders slumped from the _heaviness_ he exuded, and his head was bent. His gaze, though, was sharp in spite of the dark circles beneath his eyes. His hands were clenched into fierce fists.

What was, perhaps, most striking, was the aura that emanated from around him. It gleamed, clear and hard as starlight striking black diamond, with shadows giving way to sharp white corners that shone as he moved, sometimes reflective and bright, sometimes swallowing the light around him. The emanation clung to him as he stepped further inside, slightly trailing, always glinting and flickering in its luminosity.

"He's glowing, too," Rex said, startled. Ahsoka gave him a wide eyed look. She adjusted her grip on Rex's hand before turning back to Anakin, who was standing just inside the room and staring, not at them, but through them. Ahsoka felt a little chill trace her spine. Anakin wasn't dead. Did all people have these auras, these glowing halos around them?

"Master?" she asked, uncertainly. "Anakin?" He responded by looking away from the corner in which they stood, and stepped further inside, casting his gaze around the room. She tried again, louder. "_Anakin!_"

He only looked at her computer console, then past them and the refresher door, then to the bunk jutting out of the wall and the drawers beneath it. He unmade a fist and ran his other hand through his hair, while his attention caught on the small, round shape of her holoprojector, sitting on the ledge beside her bed. Anakin sat on the bunk, reached back, and picked it up.

Ahsoka backed up a step, until she bumped into Rex. She wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head, or perhaps bury her face in Rex's armor and just simply not watch this. She was here. Right here. And he couldn't hear her, couldn't see her.

The holoproj flicked on, and the blue hologram's flickering light warred with the hard diamond gleam that surrounded him, pressing upward and into the hollows of his face. It cast shadows onto the wall behind him.

She made the slideshow of holos for her last life day, permanently borrowing the projector itself from storage, along with a couple others. Anakin had one. So did Rex, and Barriss. They all contained the same series of holographs: of the men of the 501st, of Admiral Yularen, of Cody and of Barriss, of Master Kenobi, of herself and Rex, and of herself and Master Skywalker. She looked at them often, sometimes setting the slides into a repeating loop, watching them flick from one face to another every few moments. The faces of her friends kept her company when she agonized over Temple studies, or scrubbed blood off her skin, peeling away layers of filthy, stained clothing after battles. Sometimes, they guarded her sleep at night, when she would doze off in bed before remembering to press the switch on the device.

Even though Anakin had the same projector and the same set of holographs, his presence in her room and his sitting on her bed while looking at the images felt somehow invasive; they were hers, they were personal. There was nothing embarrassing about the pictures, but it felt like he was rifling through her personal things, things she didn't generally share. Anakin seemed to loom large, out of place, in her small room, an outsider even though he was her teacher and friend.

The images passed before his eyes, one after another, as his thumb pressed down on the control button again and again, sending the images sliding by faster and faster, around and around on their loop, while his face did not change, save for the slowly growing crease between his brows.

Abruptly, he stopped. The image was of Ahsoka and Rex, the two of them with their faces pressed together, Rex's cheek against her nearest montral. The image was close, since she'd been holding the holocam out to fit them both in the picture. They were both smiling.

Anakin's attention lingered on their faces a long while, eyes tracing over their smiles again and again, until he shut his eyes. He switched off the projector, bent his head, and pushed his fists against his forehead while his elbows rested on his knees. She heard the sound of the projector cracking in his mechanical fist, the grey casing fracturing under the pressure.

Ahsoka looked away, up towards Rex, stricken. Rex looked between the two of them, Ahsoka silently pleading for his help, and his grieving General. "I don't know, kid," he said. There were no procedures for this. No precedent. How could he comfort a dead girl who was distressed over her Master's grief? This wasn't something he could shoot at, something he could marshal troops for and fight. He had no wisdom to impart; he had no experience with anything like this. Not from the perspective of someone who was dead, and helpless to help. So he simply told her the truth. "I don't know what to do, either."

Low words sounded harshly in the little room. "You too, Snips." He lifted his head, just enough to look at his hands. He opened one, and a small chain dropped down, dangling from his fingers, the silka beads appearing smooth and delicate in the dull lighting. Delicately serrated triangles of polished grey bone twisted in the air as Anakin turned his hand over, palm up.

"My Padawan braid," Ahsoka breathed, reaching up to touch the akul tooth headdress that framed her face. She could still feel it, arching over her forehead as it always did, the teeth pressing up and radiating outward onto the soft white of her montrals. Reaching behind her, she could still feel the Padawan braid swinging behind her head, just as it always had - except it was also in Master Skywalker's hands.

It was surreal. She backed up again, closer to Rex, who laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. It should have felt reassuring, but right now, it was no consolation.

Anakin, though, was still speaking, quietly and haltingly, to the headdress of beads and the teeth hanging from his hand, shoulders hunched. "This time, everyone cheered when I killed them all. Who's next, Snips?" He ran a thumb over one of the teeth. "This can't happen again. I won't _let_ it happen again."

The headdress, lying limp in his palm, had no answer for him, and he closed his fist around it again, pressing his knuckles against his brows.

He hadn't heard her the first time, but Ahsoka tried again, this time reaching out and tugging Rex along behind her, closer. They shuffled into the narrow space between Anakin and Ahsoka's desk, and Ahsoka bent, leaning closer, placing a light hand on Anakin's shoulder. Her fingers prickled at the sensation of coming into contact with the flickering black diamond glow gleaming around him. The contrast was strange, the white-black glitter of Anakin almost absorbing her sea-colored shine.

He did not look up, but a shiver ran through him, his shoulders quivering for a moment, then bunching as he tried to shrug deeper into his tunic. "Master, can you hear me?" Ahsoka tried.

No response. She continued, a little desperately, "We're here. We're okay. Well, maybe not _okay_, but it's alright." She moved her hand from his shoulder to his hands, placing it over the one holding her braid and headdress, and squeezed, the prickling sensation coursing up her forearm as flecks of black seemed to whirl up over her hand and spiral around her wrist. "If you defeated the Separatists, that's good. You saved everyone! You won! It's okay, Master. Rex and I are together, and we're here."

Anakin shivered again, lifting his head, and looked straight into Ahsoka's face, almost seeming to peer forward, searching. Ahsoka's grip on Rex tightened, and she felt a little thrill of hope as Anakin concentrated for several long moments. She tensed her hand around Anakin's hand as well, willing him to _see_, to _hear_.

Daughter said something about returning to continue their struggle. That would be impossible, if no one could see or hear them, wouldn't it? There had to be a way.

Anakin, though, was deaf to her words, and blind to the sight of them. He sighed, heavily, and stood, his hands sliding out of Ahsoka's by sliding through them. "I'm sorry, Snips," he said, then added, wearily, "Rex." He looked down at the broken holoprojector in his hand, clenched it tightly for a moment, and then relaxed his grip. Turning, he set the holoprojector down, gently, in the center of Ahsoka's bunk, grey metal on grey banthawool. The headdress and braid he kept clutched in his hand. He lingered there a moment, then turned swiftly and moved away.

The door whisked open before him, and shut behind him, and they were left alone in the room again.

The white lights flicked off in his absence, and the luminescence of ghost-light was all that lit the room again.

"I don't want to stay here anymore, Rex," Ahsoka said, dully, staring at the closed door.

Rex didn't want to stay either. The _Resolute_ may be home, but right now, it felt cold to be here. To be so close to others, to friends and brothers, was to be reminded of his helplessness, and hers. They needed time, time to talk, time to understand what they'd become.

"Let's get out of here, then."

And once again, they were gone.

* * *

><p>There's a lot of glowing in the fic. Anakin's aura is blackwhite for what I hope is an obvious reason – light/dark. I picked the colors for Ahsoka and Rex for a variety of reasons – Ahsoka's blue eyes, green lightsaber, Rex's 501st blue – but also because I wanted to carry a slight "sky" theme with them, being so closely related to Anakin. Ahsoka gets night (think an aurora) and Rex day (sky blue and sunlight). Colors don't have specific meanings – blue isn't sad and yellow isn't cowardly, for example. Mostly just what colors I associate with certain characters….

I don't usually write a lot of Anakin, so I hope he's turning out okay.

And...a big thank you to everyone who has so kindly reviewed the first chapter! *hugs!*

~Queen


	4. Voices in the Grass

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p><em>Or when the lawn<em>

_Is pressed by unseen feet, and ghosts return_

_Gently at twilight, gently go at dawn,_

_The sad intangible who grieve and yearn._

_When the familiar is suddenly strange_

_Or the well known is what we have yet to learn,_

_And two worlds meet, and intersect, and change….._

_-T.S. Eliot, "To Walter de la Mare"_

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><p>Chapter 3. Voices in the Grass<p>

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><p>The ocean was made of grass.<p>

They flowed in the wind, the waves of the savannah, dipping and churning, shivering in the night. The ripples chased each other across the plain, the long grasses flickering in color as they moved this way and that, ochre-red as the wind blew southerly, bone-pale as the wind blew northerly, casting the land into a series of variegated striations. The grasses danced as the small seed-pod tufts that tipped each stalk caught on the air, bending to the will of the wind. The seeds themselves were tossed up, and it seemed that little white flakes whirled over the red-white sea. Here and there, knotty branched trees with high russet leaves and massive black trunks rose like pools of pitch.

Six moons hung heavily in the black night. One was full, pale silver. One was split evenly down the center and Rex could not tell if it waxed or waned, for it was so perfectly halved. One was a sliver of a pink smile, tilted to one side in a celestial smirk. One was a set of golden horns, each tip sharp and reaching for the other. One was close to the horizon, a gibbous emerald eye watching the sea of grass. The last loomed overhead, frost-white with a chip picked off one end, only a day away from fullness. They librated slowly through the cloud dappled sky, though for all their brightness, they did not blot out the stars, which hung crystal clear and bright beyond the larger spheres.

There were many worlds with many moons, and many worlds graced with vast ranges of savannah, but there could be no mistaking what world Ahsoka brought them to. Even if Rex did not recognize turu-grass when he saw it, the constant flickering dance of the stripes across the land would have hinted at their homeworld; if Ahsoka sank to her knees, she would have so perfectly blended into the landscape she would have vanished. Togruta pigmentation was a perfect, natural camouflage, from the stripes of her lekku and montrals to the burnished russet of her skin.

He'd never set foot on Shili before. He'd seen images of the Ehosiq Sector, through flash training, and Shili was included, as a Republic world of long standing. It was not a Core world, but it was close, and prosperous enough and well placed enough to be important, if the Separatists ever managed to penetrate so deep into the Republic.

It was Ahsoka's native homeworld, after all. Other than the Jedi Temple and the _Resolute_, it would likely be a place she considered home. They stood on a great bluff, near the edge where there was more rock than soil, and the turu-grass grew thin, reaching up to their knees in sparse tangles. The savannah stretched out endlessly below, interrupted only by the occasional massive tree and glint of moonlight that suggested still water.

Ahsoka was still glowing, in shifting shades of aquamarine. His first thought was that she was all sea-colored, but standing against the sky, he reassessed. The diffuse glow around her looked like that of shifting magnetic field lines – more commonly called auroras. She was standing still, tensed, her chin down and her gaze forward, sharp. He'd seen her in this pose before, usually before battles, intent on what was out there, what was coming. She held his hand almost absently, slightly outstretched as she strained forward to listen and to look. He could see her lekku twitching periodically.

He was tensed, too, though not quite so much. They were dead; there wasn't much that could hurt them, now. No more battles, no more fear of death; they'd already accomplished that.

"Why Shili?" he asked her, drawing her attention away from the savannah and the grass sea. Shili, he could guess at. The craggy promontory was a more difficult question; they were in the middle of nowhere. "Why here?"

Ahsoka breathed in, deeply, and out, slowly. When she straightened, there was a set to her shoulders that he had not seen in her room, and it made him smile a little. When she turned to him, there was a clarity in her eyes, and the aurora around her wheeled more to blue than to green. "Because this is where I feel strong."

She grinned, in that fierce little way she would when she realized they were about to win a battle. "It takes three days, to catch an akul," she began, still smiling as she turned back to the savannah and lifted her free hand to sweep around to the east. "I caught a fish in a stream not far in that direction. I cleaned it and cooked it on a low fire here, on a stick." She brought her hand back, turned it flat and gestured towards the ground, the cliff where they stood. "The bluff is too high and flat for even an akul to climb up. I was safe in most directions, and I could see anything that tried to approach me from behind." She turned, and they looked back down the slope that led towards other cliffs and other flatlands. "I hadn't found anything to eat the first two days, and I was starving. All I could bring with me was my spear. It was early winter, and the thimiars were hibernating. The only things out were akul."

Her free hand tightened around a spear he could not see, and she could only remember. "I had strange dreams that night," Ahsoka confessed. "I didn't remember half of them, but when I woke up the next morning, I knew I would find an akul by the watering hole about three klicks that way." She gestured north, and in the far distance he could see the faint gleam of moonlight on water. "I killed it on the third day. No lightsaber. Just the spear and me. I stalked it through the turu-grass, fought it, struck it with my spear and watched it die. I breathed in its last breath, and then I took its teeth."

The cadence of Ahsoka's words had changed slowly as she spoke, from her more usual, relaxed tone to something that sounded formal, almost memorized, as she told of the hunt and kill. Rex knew he'd killed many times, though they were mostly droids, but there was never a formality to it. Killing was simply what he did, and he rarely used such a solemn tone in relation to it. Ahsoka spoke of her hunt as though it were special, and perhaps it was. He knew little of Togruta customs, but the only other Togruta he saw wearing akul teeth was Master Ti. Rex also knew Ahsoka did not wear her headdress frivolously; it was not mere jewelry and decoration, not any more than the jaig eyes on his helmet or the pauldron on his shoulder. Their symbols were different, but they each wore them with honor they earned.

"The Togruta say that when we die, our bodies return to the turu-grass, and the soul goes into the stars, and when the wind blows at night, the dead use it to speak."

That certainly put a more eerie feeling into the sound of the wind racing across the savannah. The rush of soft noise was a steady stream of bursts, accompanied by the pitched _tihk-tihk-tihk_ of some nearby insects. Ahsoka was looking at him again, wide-eyed and asking for answers. "The Jedi say we fade into the Force. That we exist in the Netherworld of the Force." She looked away, back to the ocean of grass. "What _are_ we, Rex?"

Some sort of ghosts, he knew, but she was asking _why_ and _how_ as much as _what_, and he still had no answer for her. Rex sighed and reached up with a free hand to remove his bucket. It was strange; he could feel its weight, see the optical readouts, command centers and data scrolling as he always did, but if he was dead, then the functions of the HUD were nothing more than a memory he was dragging with him into the afterlife. The HUD could give him no new data about being dead, though it was currently scrolling through pertinent information about Shili. He fumbled with the helmet, decompressing the seal and pushing it upward. It was awkward, doing this with only one hand, and Ahsoka must have noticed, because a moment later he felt her step closer and a second hand join in removing the helmet from his head.

Ahsoka's hand withdrew, and he swung the helmet around. Even if it wasn't really real, it was his helmet, and his memory of his helmet, and he wasn't going to give it up just yet. He clipped it to his belt, in the same place he always did when he needed it close at hand. The familiarity was a comfort. The radiance around Ahsoka did not look any different with his own eyes than through his HUD, though perhaps it was ever so slightly softer around the edges. His own hand still glowed as well, in a pleasant pale blue-gold. The Jedi couldn't be completely wrong – if they were ghosts, spirits, then the spirit was indeed luminous.

He didn't feel tired, and his legs didn't feel weary, but he wanted to sit anyway. He tugged on Ahsoka's hand, and she moved down with him, and sat beside him. He folded his legs, and Ahsoka tucked hers in, close enough she could rest her head on her knees if she wanted. "I don't know much of anything about being dead, kid. Dying, yes. Being dead, no."

Ahsoka nodded. He didn't have answers for her, not real ones. The important Jedi might, like General Yoda, and that Daughter person since she seemed to already be dead, too. Ahsoka, though, had seen almost as much death as Rex had; she'd been in plenty of battles by now, been in the medbay after returning. Dying was not a mystery; death was. He hadn't spent a great deal of time thinking about what, if anything, would happen to himself after death, but somehow, roaming aimlessly as a ghost wasn't something he'd come up with.

They sat quietly for a moment, listening to the wind and the _tihk-tihk_ sound of beetles building castles in the dirt behind them.

Everything moved so fast. Rex lowered his head for a moment, trying to think. What seemed to him an hour ago, he was in the middle of a firefight. Then he was someplace called Mortis, with his blasters gone and a glowing, floating woman hovering in the air. Then, quick as thought, they were in Ahsoka's room on the _Resolute_. Now here. The _Resolute_ was home, and familiar, but he figured Ahsoka was right; there was something strengthening about this spot, with its view and clear air and night sky.

He knew nothing of Mortis, or the glowing woman. That first. "What is Mortis, and who was the woman?"

Ahsoka turned to him and blinked once, in mild surprise. "Oh," she sighed, shifting uncomfortably. "That never did get down to you, did it? Honestly, I'm not sure what the Council made of Mortis, or Daughter or the rest of her family. Everything about Mortis was bizarre, Rex." Ahsoka took a moment to put her chin on her knees, then tilt her head to the side so that her montral rested on them instead. "And with the war, figuring out the mysteries of the dead got pushed aside. Awhile ago, if you remember, we got a weird distress call, on a really old Jedi frequency. Master Skywalker, Master Kenobi and I were supposed to rendezvous with you and investigate, but when we got to the rendezvous point, you and the _Resolute_ weren't there."

"Why wouldn't I have been there?"

Ahsoka's head lifted enough that she could shake it and shrug. "No idea. That was another odd thing. But there was this monolith, and it pulled us in on some kind of tractor beam. There were three people living on Mortis. Daughter you met. There was also her father and brother. They're incredibly powerful, Rex. Or were. They," she hesitated, frowning in consternation, "they died. The Son killed the Daughter, the Father killed himself to stop the Son, and Master Skywalker killed _him_. Right after that, Master Skywalker, Kenobi and I all woke up, back in our transport, like it was a dream."

"But it wasn't."

"No."

Rex frowned, and looked out over the grass. If the Togruta were right, and the dead spoke though the sound of the wind, he couldn't understand them, even if he was dead himself. "The woman – Daughter – said the General transferred some of her life into you."

Ahsoka flinched and drew in on herself. "The Son…did something to me."

There was a moment where Rex simply stared at her, uncomprehending. Then he went cold with rage, the blue-gold corona around him tightening into a sharp edged gleam of ice. There were very few things in the galaxy that could make Ahsoka Tano curl up on herself, and the few things he could think of were exceptionally unpleasant. Ahsoka was a highly capable fighter. If this Son person had managed to not only hurt her, but instill enough fear in her to make her cringe, he was a serious threat. He remembered Ahsoka's words, earlier. _She's not the one to worry about_. The Son apparently was.

Ahsoka, though, was looking at him in some concern, with his expression so stony and his ghost-light so chilling. She tugged on his hand several times, drawing his attention. "I don't remember very much of it," she said quickly, but then halted, biting her lip. "The family, they represent aspects of the Force. Daughter is the Light. Father was the Balance. Son was the Dark."

"He hurt you."

She looked away. "I don't remember very clearly. Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi won't tell me exactly what happened, just not to worry about it. But I remember," she scrunched up her nose, in thought. "Fighting. Fighting Master. And a sword. Then waking up and Daughter was dead beside me on the ground. Daughter did something, to keep me alive."

After a long moment of wishing for his blasters, Rex forced himself to relax. If Daughter was around as a spirit, then there was nothing preventing Son from being around as well. He could only imagine the General's reaction, if this Son person hurt Ahsoka. It couldn't have been pretty. But it was over, and there was no threat here, though there were questions that needed answers and decisions that needed to be made.

"She said we could return to the physical world," Rex said slowly, watching Ahsoka for a reaction. "We seem to be here."

"To 'continue our struggle', whatever that means," Ahsoka finished bitterly. "Master couldn't hear or see us. How do we do anything if we can't be seen or heard?"

Again, they lingered in silence, and the turu-grass whispered across the plain and the beetles called their _tihk-tihk-tihk_ behind them. The moons continued to rise overhead as clouds cast pale shadows that chased each other across the ground. The grass murmured, rustling, the dead speaking a language they did not share. What were they now? Nothing more than shadows? Rex looked down at their joined hands. Ahsoka was holding his so comfortably, though her eyes were apprehensive and the aurora dancing around her twirled in a way that was tense. He suspected his was the same.

Was this all? Was this all there was? It wasn't so bad, sitting on a bluff on Shili with Ahsoka, and listening to the wind and the grass beneath a sky of moons and stars, but it wasn't life either. If he was dead, then there was nothing for that – he couldn't come back to life. The Jedi seemed right about the spirit being luminous, but there was no fading into the Force, not this time, no joining with some abstract idea of a cosmic energy field. Maybe it was possible to still fade away, but if what that glowing woman said was true, Ahsoka was being her usual stubborn self and hanging on to some shred of life, and dragging him along with her.

That wasn't so bad either. Fading into the cosmos sounded very peaceful, but it was an experience he wasn't sure he was ready to have. He was a clone and a soldier and his life was simple in that manner; he was not a mystic, not a Jedi. But as a clone and a soldier and a man with a mind of his own, he wanted to do something good. Wanted to fight against evils and take care of his brothers and save the Republic he'd been taught since incubation was the pinnacle of all that was right with the galaxy. It was worth something. It was worth fighting for. It was worth dying for. He could rest, if he wanted. Ahsoka could rest, if she wanted.

Yet they were both restless under the moons and the stars. The tension was unlike it was before a battle; this was the tension of unknowing, of helplessness, of blindness. He could not remember the last time he was so powerless.

"There has to be a way," Rex said at length, slowly and carefully. "To be seen and heard. We just haven't learned how." Experience. They needed to learn.

Ahsoka's eyes retained their apprehension, but there was a softer sheen there now than there was a moment ago. She squeezed his hand. They were not alone in their helplessness. They were stronger together. Ahsoka looked away from the sea of grass, and up towards the stars for a long moment, before reclining further and laying on her back. Rex tilted his head and quirked a brow, looking down at her as she looked up at the stars. Their hands were still joined, but it seemed a bit odd, for her to be laying, and him to be sitting.

So he lay down beside her, and looked up and tried to see what she was seeing. The moons danced slowly overhead, inching along their nightly courses. Lying down in armor was never relaxing, never comfortable, though he'd done it plenty of times; this time, he felt no discomfort. This time, the ground merely seemed warm and moist from a recent rain.

Ahsoka lifted a hand and stretched out her fingers, as though she could grasp the sky. "I wanted to hunt an akul. I asked to come here and try, and Master Plo and Master Ti helped me prepare." She turned her hand a little bit, and the stars passed between her fingers. "I always knew I belonged at the Temple, and Shili was my homeworld. But when I got here?" she clenched her hand into a fist, fingers seeming to close over the white moon above them, "I knew I wanted to be out _there_." Her hand opened and she waved it, just enough for him to know she meant the stars.

Rex spent his whole life, expecting to die on the field, and he had. Such an end was easy to accept, as he'd spent his existence knowing how it would have to end. He dug his fingers into the rocky soil, and felt the stones pass through his incorporeal fingers like air, though they felt as real and as solid as any stones would. "Kamino was home, if only because that's where my brothers are." He turned his head and watched as Ahsoka turned hers as well, meeting his gaze through the scrub they lay on. His voice stayed low, and rumbled slightly as he said, "There was never any question of where I'd go."

Rex returned his attention to the stars.

He heard Ahsoka shuffle a little bit, and realized she was scooting closer. There was a determined glint in her eyes, and the incandescent aurora around her glimmered brightly against the night. Rolling herself towards him, she balanced on one hip and said, "Then what do we do next?"

They had no information. The next step was logical. "Reconnaissance," he said.

Ahsoka nodded, and rolled onto her back. "The galaxy is pretty big. That's a lot of recon to do."

"I think we have time."

Ahsoka laughed, and though there was some amusement at their black humor, it was tinged with sadness, too. They had no time limit because they had no obligations, and their lives had already expired. They had until the end of time itself, if they wanted.

And as they lay on the ground, they planned, and the wind caught their voices and carried them across the turu-grass.

* * *

><p>Music for this chapter is <em>Adiemus<em>, by Adiemus.

I've always wanted to write Shili, and there's more Shili to come.

As always, much love to those of you who took a moment to review the last chapter! Thank you, DoubleEO, littlelionluvr, laloga, Count Mallet, sachariah, Librarian Girl, ThoseWereTheDays, Jadedsnowtiger and Admiral Daala! I always appreciate the feedback!

~Queen


	5. Starts so Soft and Sweet

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p><em>Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers<br>Starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters  
>A man who is pure at heart and says his prayers by night<br>May still become a wolf when the autumn moon is bright_

_Florence + The Machine, "Howl"_

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><p>Chapter 4. Starts So Soft and Sweet<p>

* * *

><p>It wasn't quite the last place they expected Anakin to be, but it was still somewhat unexpected.<p>

The apartments of Padme Amidala were plush with all the luxury wealth and prestige could buy. The address 500 Republica was among the most exclusive in the galaxy, and the view from out the windows of Padme's apartment showed the vast landscape of Coruscant, the glittering skyline of the mass ecumenopolis standing in a vast horizon against the sunset sky. Spacescrapers pointed sharp, glittering fingers up into the stratosphere, as though they wished to climb their way away from the surface of the ground and join the stars. Red sunlight poured in through the high clerestory windows, and a faint breeze blew in from the balcony that stretched out from her living area. So high in the air, so far away from the skylanes with their speeders and their exhaust fumes, the air came in fresh, if thin. Filmy drapes fluttered where they framed the balcony.

Padme and Anakin had been friends since they were young. Before the first time Ahsoka accompanied her Master on a mission to guard the Senator, he'd told her the story of the boy he once was, and a of a queen in desperate need of reaching Coruscant to plead for the aid of the Republic against those who threatened to starve her people through a blockade. That child-queen befriended him, and was kind to him, and was there when he learned he would grow up to become a Jedi. Ahsoka always suspected he didn't tell her everything about how he and Padme met – there was always a certain wariness to him when he discussed Tatooine, and his childhood – but he always spoke of Padme like she were an angel. It made her happy, to see him so content about something. If Padme made him happy, Ahsoka was happy to be her friend as well.

It did not surprise Ahsoka, as much as it could have, to see the two of them like this. Still, it was enough to take her slightly aback, for her jaw to drop just a little bit in surprise, and for her eyes to widen at the sight. She told herself they were just very close friends, and she was reading too much into the way they leaned in towards each other and held each other's hands as they sat together on one of the cushioned couches. She told herself that, until Padme leaned forward and, very sweetly and with the ease of much practice, pressed a soft kiss onto Anakin's lips. He made no protest, and though he did not lean into to the kiss and deepen it, he did not withdraw or act surprised, either. It eased him, and his face relaxed slightly, the tension draining enough for his forehead to lower down onto hers. She kissed him again, this time on the nose, then between the brows, and returned her forehead to his. They remained still.

Rex was watching them placidly, his brows slightly lifted, but he seemed unsurprised. "Did you _know_ about this?" Ahsoka asked, askance.

He tilted his head towards her for a moment and made a low, thoughtful sound in the back of his throat. "The General's been in love with her as long as I've known him. I'm used to reading expressions. He's never been subtle." Rex sighed and shook his head. "This, though," he nodded towards the intimate scene playing out before them, "no."

Ahsoka turned back towards Anakin and Padme, and forced herself not to gape. She couldn't help the rise of a flush in her montrals though; right now, their plan entailed finding those who were most likely to have strong connections with them. Friends, and in Rex's case, brothers. Anakin was one of the few they both had in common, and so they decided to begin their reconnaissance by studying him and any reactions he may have to their ghostly attempts at being noticed. Padme was on Ahsoka's list, albeit slightly further down. Ahsoka was suddenly very aware of how intrusive being a ghost would be. Arriving in a room would bring no recognition, no change in behavior, no welcome. Unless there were some other ghosts out there wandering around, she and Rex were going to be doing a lot of spying on people, even if it was well meant spying.

And no interacting, at least not until they figured out how.

"Maybe we should go," Ahsoka murmured, but neither moved to leave.

Seeing the two of them, though, did answer one question: Padme also had an aura. It was likely, then, all beings did. Anakin's looked much the same as it did on the _Resolute_; a diamond sharp chiaroscuro of black and white, light and dark, flickering along each other and pulsing along the shape of his body. Its starkness contrasted sharply with the lambent hues Padme was wreathed in, of royal blue and fire-bright orange, like a cut sapphire held up against a flame. Their colors skidded and whirled together where they touched, hands and cheeks taking on an intense luster as they mingled. Padme's deepened in shade while Anakin's paled, growing brighter and whiter, as though the darker threads of his aura were warded away.

The dark, though, seemed to creep back when Anakin murmured, "I promised her I wouldn't fail again."

Padme brought her hands up onto his shoulders. "You saved your men."

"It happened _again_," he said, _frustration_ rolling off of him, and _guilt_, too. His voice grew thin and high. "I was supposed to take care of her. I could have stopped it. I could have gotten there in time, could have been faster – "

"If you could have been faster, you would have been faster," Padme told him, interrupting gently. "You can't blame yourself, Ani. You told me what the battle was like, you can't be everywhere at once." She cupped his face with her hands and forced him to look up at her, guiding his face. "You know that, Anakin."

"I got so _angry_," he said, pulling away and clenching his fists.

"You're human," Padme told him, adjusting herself on the couch so that she could press herself against his side, offering support and simple contact. She slid her arm around his back and caressed down along his spine, soothingly. "And I know you're a Jedi. It doesn't mean you can't feel anything."

"I'll do better next time. I won't let there _be_ a next time."

Padme's hand stroked his hair, her fingers running through the strands. Her voice was soft and full when she said, "I believe you."

Something rolled through the room like a wave, and Ahsoka and Rex took a unified step backward at the strength of it. So complex was the feeling, Ahsoka could not understand it at first. There was incredible _need_, a _hunger_, a _desperation_, a tightness of feeling that was overwhelming even while it was breathtakingly _sweet_. Anakin turned towards Padme and kissed her, deeply, pushing her back into the ornamental cushions of the couch while his arms slid around her and pulled her tight against him, and the light around them surged into a nebula of interwoven brightness, firelit sapphire twining around starlit diamond.

It was intoxicating, simply breathing in such a heady mix. "We should go," Ahsoka repeated, near to gasping.

Rex stepped in closer to her, and with a final look cast back over the couple, they were gone.

* * *

><p>Not the most exciting chapter ever, but the revelation of Anakin and Padme is really necessary. Ahsoka and Rex just need to be aware of it. It's also the shortest chapter of the fic, so things will lengthen out again from here.<p>

Padme's aura is blue and orange. I picked them because they're very rich, regal colors, but, like Anakin's, they're also opposing colors on the color wheel, and opposites – fire and water, so to speak.

And as always, many thanks to all of you who so kindly reviewed! Jadedsnowtiger, LongLivetheClones, sachariah, Count Mallet, laloga, Sarge1995, DoubleEO, ThoseWeretheDays and Admiral Daala!

~Queen


	6. Girl on a Pyre

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>"<em>Death is a natural part of life. <em>

_Rejoice for those around you who transform into the Force. _

_Mourn them do not. Miss them do not. _

_Attachment leads to jealousy. The shadow of greed, that is."_

–_Yoda_

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><p>Chapter 5. Girl on a Pyre<p>

* * *

><p>The assembly was small, but bright.<p>

There were not many of them in the Pyre Room, a mere scattering of those Ahsoka knew in life who also were currently in residence at the Temple. The colors around them danced, vibrant shades wreathing each member of the assembly and casting bright shadows up against the dun colored arches of the chapel. Though the ambiances around them were shining, the expression each person wore was somber, almost to the point of grimness. Near the front of the group, Master Yoda stood amid his earth-brown, pond-green illumination with his head bowed, eyes closed, long ears curving down while his hands rested heavily, folded atop his walking stick.

It was fascinating, to see what colors accompanied each person, and Rex made his observations covertly, though no one but Ahsoka could see his interest. Mace Windu was surrounded by iron grey and amethyst, Plo Koon by an almost caf-colored hue lined with rust, Obi-Wan Kenobi by soft sea green and sharp azure. In the middle of it all stood Anakin Skywalker, with his stark white-black silhouetting him against the rest, standing on tiers behind him. His lightsaber burned blue in his right hand. The skylight in the dome above shone with midday sunlight, and the circle of light it permitted into the rotunda of the room lay straight across the unlit pyre in its' center, casting the rest in shadow. With no windows, the great round eye of the oculus served as the only source of light, and it made the rectangular bier and the body of its occupant gleam.

They'd returned to Anakin a day later, and found him ascending one of the towers in the Temple. Following, Rex and Ahsoka discovered themselves attending Ahsoka's funeral.

Her body was shrouded in a film of white gauze, the ends loose and trailing over the black wood of the pyre. Her eyes were closed, and the hilts of her lightsabers rested in her folded hands.

Rex could feel the tension running through Ahsoka now; he was no Jedi, and even in death and tied to Ahsoka in some way he didn't really understand, he did not seem able to sense the feelings of others. Ahsoka's emotions, though, were clear from her face, from the way she held her shoulders and gripped his hand with both of hers. She stood close to him, her shoulder brushing against his arm, her head just a couple inches from the winged portion of his pauldron.

She was having a harder time accepting her own death than he was. He'd seen some of his brothers lose close brothers, those they grew up with on Kamino, those they served with in early regiments and squadrons and units. He'd lost such brothers himself. After awhile, there was a constant, dull sadness amid the acceptance, sometimes interrupted with happy remembrances of the dead, and a well-intentioned determination to continue on in that brother's stead. Normalcy was interspersed with grief.

The trip to Shili was good for her. It was a place she felt strong, as she said, and it harbored no familiar faces or strong memories beyond those that involved her hunt. The scene in Senator Amidala's apartment was too startling to allow much time for sadness. This, though, brought her grief back to the fore, though it was not grief for a friend or a loved one, but grief for the life she'd lost.

"I'm dead," Ahsoka said softly, her gaze fixated on the body on the pyre.

She'd never seen herself dead before, of course. He was glad she'd only have to see it the once. He'd seen himself dead hundreds, probably thousands of times, though the armor was different and frequently the hairstyle as well. Seeing his own face with unseeing eyes and blood spatter was not a new experience. During those times, after battles when the bodies of his brothers were prepared for burial, he could feel his own heart beating in his own chest and know he was still alive.

"You sure you want to see this?" he asked her, and her attention did not waver. She bit her lip though, and nodded once, determinedly. She cast a stricken look at General Skywalker.

He was not taking this well. The auras around people generally seemed to stay the same set of colors, only varying in hue, intensity and size, but Rex was starting to make note of what these variations meant. Skywalker's aura had been easing into a relieved white when they left him with the Senator. Right now, it was clouded near to black. Judging by Ahsoka's worried countenance, she was as preoccupied with her Master as she was with her own funeral.

Rex wondered if he was a part of the reason she was clinging to life so resolutely. The General was a strong man, but he was reckless most of the time and stubborn the rest. Ahsoka was reckless and stubborn as well, but forced into a position as her teacher, Skywalker had to control his own impulsiveness. He cared about his Padawan, and even though Rex didn't always agree with everything his General did, he couldn't say the man didn't try.

It occurred to him that with Ahsoka gone, there wouldn't be anyone close to him to look out for, to protect, and therefore little to keep him restrained.

Skywalker began to speak a eulogy then, in soft, quiet tones. "When I first met Ahsoka, I didn't want a Padawan," he began, taking a step forward that was accompanied by the hum of his lightsaber. The long, dark robe he wore billowed slightly at the movement. Beside him, Rex heard Ahsoka laugh lightly, once, before sighing over the memory. "She was reckless, and headstrong, and I probably didn't help with that any."

This time, the soft laughter came from Obi-Wan, who was smiling, deep within the hood of his cloak. He was not alone in his amusement, amid the other Masters.

"But she was also one of the most loyal, strong-willed people I ever met," he continued with a deep breath. "She saved my life several times, and Obi-Wan's at least once."

There was another chuckle, and Ahsoka's and Obi-Wan's voices echoed each other as they both murmured, amusedly: "Gundarks."

Anakin's tone returned to seriousness, and his grip tightened on his lightsaber before he lifted it before him in a salute. The blue fire of it cast ghostly shadows into the planes of his face. "She was a good friend, and there are few others I'd want to fight beside. Ahsoka died defending her squad, and trying to protect a good man we both called a friend."

Ahsoka lifted one of her hands from Rex's, and gripped his forearm instead, squeezing it and shaking it slightly as Anakin acknowledged him as well.

There was a finality to Anakin's tone when he finished with the words, "May they rest easily within the Force."

He lowered his lightsaber, and touched it to the dry kindling at the base of the pyre.

The wood caught, and a thin trail of white smoke began to coil upward towards the Coruscanti sky. Skywalker took a step backward, extinguishing his lightsaber as he fell in line beside General Kenobi, eyes steady on the young flames. They began to crackle as they spread, catching on one twig, then another, then a branch and a bundle of reeds, the light brightening and lighting the room even as the smoke darkened and thickened as it flowed up into the oculus that led to open air and blue sky. The wood was fragrant, and as it burned, it let off a sweet smell of cloves. Golden, the strongest flames reached upward and snagged their fingers on the ends of Ahsoka's white shroud, and new lines of fire began to rise up across the bier.

Beside him, Ahsoka drew a long, uneasy breath, which she expelled slowly. The flames danced silkily towards the sky, and the shadows they cast danced around the walls of the rotunda and between the figures who stood silently and watched her body's demise. "You're probably in the middle of a star by now," she said, a little shakily, but with a determined calm. Her hands were still tight where they gripped him, and her eyes locked on the leaping pyre.

Rex looked away from her for a moment and onto the bright blaze before them, sun-colored while it burned. There was a good chance she was right; her body had been recovered, and from what he could tell they'd won the battle. She would have been right beside him. If they won, there was likely time enough to collect the dead and give them a burial. Brothers were often lost during battle, their bodies included, out of necessity. It was not a good thing, but it was sometimes an evil they could not help. The living had to take precedence over the dead, and it was more important to get living brothers out of a battle than ones who were already slain.

The aftermath of battle was never pretty. Burnt bodies and blood and often piss and shit, too. Organics were not as clean as droids. There was, though, a certain peacefulness in the thought. It wouldn't be so bad, knowing that as days passed and rains came and went, you'd slowly melt away down into the soil. Food for worms, some would say, though it was just as true it was a natural return to the galaxy itself. If souls or spirits returned to some mystical energy field Jedi dubbed the Force, there was nothing wrong with bodies returning to the dirt. That was part of their Force, too. Rain and time buried brothers, when other brothers could not. It was better than being processed down and rinsed away out of a morgue, the way it was done when you were near a field hospital.

Space burial, though, seemed cleaner, brighter. For a moment, he thought of what that would look like; racing forward, drawn by gravity into a sun, its bright corona growing larger as he drew closer, looming, until there was nothing left but fire and light and heat. Not so different from the burial Ahsoka was receiving right now. He was probably buried in the heart of a star.

Rex covered one of her hands with his and squeezed, to reassure her as much as himself. A few days ago, standing this close to Ahsoka and touching her so easily would have been inappropriate at best…and most likely unthinkable. Now, though, it seemed necessary, and not just to keep him with her and present. She seemed to need something solid to hold on to, and her need forced him to keep calm. She was the only thing that didn't slip through his fingers when he tried to touch it. Ahsoka was his solidity, as well. He didn't smile, but somehow, their shared comfort pleased him.

She shivered a little and looked skyward. The pyre was burning bright, the flames snapping upward tall and fierce, orange sparks flying towards the apex of the dome and out into the air. The air was close with heat, though cut through with the chill breeze that swept past the oculus and made the sparks fly. Within the hot embrace of the flames, Ahsoka's body's silhouette could still be seen, lying still. Ahsoka herself had closed her eyes, though her face was still turned upward and her brows were drawn together.

There was no need to stay longer for this. The Jedi would keep vigil over her body until it was reduced to ash.

Rex stepped in slightly closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Ahsoka turned in closer to him without protest. Shili, again. It was peaceful there.

He cast one last look around the assembly of Jedi, standing still and silent as the fire crackled and roared. In their dark cloaks, they seemed imposing amid the shadows, but also bright amid their spirit-lights.

All except Skywalker, where the shadows seemed to cling, and the fire seemed to make his eyes gleam a flickering red-yellow over his usual bright blue.

Rex felt a sudden chill, and then they were gone.

* * *

><p>It felt a little necessary, to have a funeral. Some measure of closure seemed needed, particularly for the living characters.<p>

As always, many thanks to those of you who so kindly took a moment to review. sachariah, laloga, Admiral Daala, Jadedsnowtiger, Librarian Girl, littlelionluvr, Count Mallet, HarryPotterFreak, Sarge1995, LongLivetheClones and Narutodragon! Thank you, all of you.

~Queen


	7. Shadows on the Walls

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"<em>All your life you live so close to truth it becomes a permanent blur in the corner of your eye. <em>

_And when something nudges it into outline,_

_it's like being ambushed by a grotesque."_

– _Guildenstern, "Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead"_

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><p>Chapter 6. Shadows on the Walls<p>

* * *

><p>Something was rotten on the <em>Resolute<em>.

Putrid, it hung in the air, cloying in its syrupy sweetness. She could almost taste it with her tongue, but the rot was not something that could be tasted, or touched, or smelled, but only _sensed_. She _felt_ it was saccharine, spoilt, like candy left too much in the sun. If Ahsoka were still alive, she'd have shivered in spite of the warm caress of it between her shoulder blades, like a bit of sunlight striking her through hot glass.

The table was grey. It sat in the middle of the room with a single beam of stark white light shining down upon it, and two people sat on two chairs on two sides of the table. One was a tired looking human man of indeterminate years, too young to be called old, too old to be called young. His face was lined with grime, and deep shadows clung to the crevasses of his face, puckering around his lips and etching themselves between his thick brows. His hands were on the table, resting, but encased in a heavy set of binders. Dull red-blue light clung to him, idling slowly and without energy.

Anakin Skywalker sat forward in his seat on the opposing side of the table, one hand resting on a thigh while the other was in a fist, resting hard on the tabletop. His shoulders were drawn tight and high around his neck, his chin lowered to improve the ferocity of his glare. Sharp white light cut thin and pale against the darker aura around him, glittering like obsidian.

Still, it was not the man being interrogated that filled Ahsoka's attention, nor was it Master Skywalker or even the grimy presence of the _rot_, but instead a third figure that stood close to her Master, bent at the waist so he could easily whisper into an ear. He seemed to be everywhere and nowhere in the room, fading into every shadow, every corner, every little dark place the interrogation room could muster.

Two little round eyes of burnished red met hers, staring out of a smoke-pale, red streaked face. He tilted his head to the side and seemed to examine Ahsoka for a moment, thoughtfully, before his gaze slid downward towards her right hand, firmly clutching Rex's, then up again to study Rex's face. He smiled, and in a smooth, resonant voice, said, "Interesting."

Ahsoka felt Rex bristle, even while she did. They both tensed, side by side, hand in hand, incorporeal bodies dropping into fighting stances they'd spent their lives learning, though neither currently had lives.

"You're the Son," Rex said, and the Son smiled slightly wider, bending forward into a bow of acknowledgment while stepping back into the shadows that flickered and wove around him, fading away into a hazy cloud of shadowy miasma.

He reappeared disturbingly close to Rex, ashy faced, red eyed and a hint of a body shape; nothing more. "Your little friend's told you about me," he said, voice reverberating in a deeper tone than his sister's as he swept towards Rex's face, moving in as though to loom close, but keeping some small distance so he could better stay in the shadows. Rex glared and jerked around, lifting a glowing arm to ward him off, but he was gone again into the gloom as quickly as he came, ghosting past Ahsoka just slow enough for her to turn and scowl as he passed her by, adding, "How kind of her."

He materialized again near Anakin, standing just before him.

Ahsoka knew from prior experience normal attacks did nothing against the Son, or any of the Ones. She didn't even have a lightsaber to use, though the family of Force-wielders seemed impervious to such attacks. Her aura felt cool around her, bright and blue-green, and it bit serenely into the smoky darkness licking outward from the Son, joined by the steady blue-gold of Rex beside her. "What are you doing to him?" she hissed, wishing she knew what to do, how to chase him off. Nothing good came from the Son. Just darkness and lost memories she was afraid to remember.

The smile was gone from the Son's face, and he seemed a little bored. A shifting of inky shadows below his face suggested he was shrugging, ripples of black fog peeling away from his jaw to sluice to the floor and puddle there, airily. "Whispering poison into his ears." He faded a little, then flickered back to visibility slightly further away, at an angle better to address Ahsoka and Rex. He did not come too close; the light around them did not fill the room the way his shadows did, but it pooled and swirled, eddied and brightened and chased back the dark.

Ahsoka tried to breathe, to calm herself. Son, like Daughter, could see her. See her and see Rex. They were dead too, but seemed capable of more than just being ghosts. Daughter blended into light the way the Son blended into shadow. They were small displays of power, but she could feel the gap between what the Son was, what the Daughter was, and what she and Rex were. The siblings were far beyond her.

Still, they had their own bit of brightness, and though they did not shine as intensely as the Daughter, they shone all the same. Slowly, she began to pull Rex towards her, closer to the two at the table, sitting so uncannily still. Rex was focused on the Son; Ahsoka snuck a quick glance at her Master and the prisoner.

Thin threads of black were tied around them, looping around wrist and arm, waist and foot, like a pair of marionettes. The strands of shadow ran off into the darkness that danced away from their light, but delicate threads themselves remained stubbornly in place, swallowing any spirit-light that tried to rise up around them.

She edged herself and Rex closer, one step at a time, and the Son seemed content to orbit the room counter to them, moving further from the two at the table. Their movements were slow, awkward, wary; neither knew what to do if the situation changed and the Son attacked, but both shared a need to get between the man in the darkness and man they called friend.

The blue-green and blue-gold light of Ahsoka and Rex stood as a barrier between Anakin at the table and the Son, still contentedly watching them from across the small room. The curling shadows around him settled enough to see the high black-red ruff that framed his chin as well as the contours of shoulders, chest, and folded arms. The quirk around his lips was not large enough to be called a smile – not even really a smirk - but there was a hint of amusement on his face.

"Stay _away_ from Master Skywalker," Ahsoka said, pitching her voice low and threatening. It was an empty threat, she knew, but one she'd make all the same. A flux of light from beside her let her know Rex echoed the sentiment. She felt a bit of _strength_ flow from him, and a bit of golden twine slipped up her arm from his hand and faded into her aura. Her viridian and azure took on a molten sheen for a moment, and she smiled as she felt it hearten her.

The Son chuckled once, the faint amusement on his face becoming visible before submerging again. "Such threats. But my words are only a whisper in the back of his mind. Little thoughts slipping in when he's focused elsewhere. It's up to him, what he does with those thoughts." The Son lifted a hand, turning it from one side to the other, palm up, palm down, carelessly. "Ignore them, act upon them. It's his decision, to act upon his better angels. Or upon his demons."

A narrow look at Rex revealed he was still intent on the Son, wary of any threat. Though the shadows menaced, there was only wry _amusement_ coming from the Son, rather than outright malice. Still, she was cautious. A part of her knew she was already dead; she couldn't be killed again. And yet, there was so little they knew about what they were now, and the Son was both more powerful and more experienced. They could leave, escape, as fast as thought could carry them, but she did not want to leave Master Skywalker with him.

They came to try again, to be heard. Whispering poison? Little thoughts slipping in? What the Son said suggested it was possible; it was a matter of _how_.

She twitched her right hand, ever so slightly, as a warning to Rex, and turned halfway to look over Master Skywalker's shoulder. His dark blond hair curled almost wildly around his ears, the curves of which just barely emerged out of the tangle. Haltingly, Ahsoka lowered herself closer, bending her knees and leaning in. "Master, can you hear me?"

He remained still, unblinking. Ahsoka cast a glance towards the Son still standing impassively nearby, though his _amusement_ was fading into something _bored_. He was tiring of watching her and Rex fumble around. "Master, I'm here. So's Rex. You've been getting some really bad advice," she shot another, furtive look towards the Son, "so you shouldn't listen, okay? Whatever it was he was saying, don't do it. Don't listen." He remained impassive, unhearing. She leaned in closer, trying to peer around into his face. She waved her free hand in front of him once, though his eyes remained focused beyond her. With a frown, she tried poking him in the cheek, but that too yielded no results.

A fresh spike of _humor_ shot through the room, and Ahsoka glared in the direction of the Son, still half in her crouch. The Force-wielder smiled a little, faintly, and Ahsoka stood, angling herself back into line with Rex.

"Futile," the Son said, and the shadows writhed around him, slipping back up towards his face as he unfolded his arms from across his chest. "You no longer cast shadows on the walls, so he cannot see you. You no longer speak with your old voices, so he cannot hear you. You're dead, out wandering amid the real galaxy, now. You can't act like the living."

Her tight grip was reflected by Rex, and their hands were clenched around each other. The ghost-light between their fingers was intense to the point of searing whiteness, though it remained comfortably cool in the rancid heat of the dim room.

He was playing with them, hinting at answers but telling them nothing about how to speak, how to be seen. A flash of _annoyance_ appeared around Rex in the form of a pulse of cobalt blue, and she echoed it, fluctuating a shade of deep jade green. The shadows inched backward at the momentary intensity, before curling their way forward again.

"He won't listen to you," Ahsoka said as coldly as she could.

The Son waved a hand, and with a slither, the threads binding Anakin and the prisoner in place were loosed. "You are so certain," he stated drily.

The two living men skidded abruptly into action.

Anakin slammed his fist down onto the table. "We _caught_ you smuggling access codes to the Separatists! Don't _lie_ to me!"

The prisoner squinted at him through dirty blond bangs and said, flatly, "I have nothing else to say to you. If your Republic still has any honesty left in it, you'll get me representation." His lip curled and he sneered slightly, scanning Anakin from his head to where his waist disappeared beneath the table. "And not another _Jedi_."

The title dripped with so much _scorn_ Ahsoka was taken aback. But it was Anakin's reaction that took her breath away.

Anakin's already present _irritation_ exploded into black _rage_. He was out of his seat, one hand flat on the table while the other was lifted into the air, fingers flexed outward but slightly curling towards each other as though in a grip. The prisoner flew backward, overturning his chair as he slammed into the wall, skull thumping into the bulkhead with a loud _crack_. Then he began to gag, his binder encased wrists flying upward so that his hands could scramble at the bobbing apple of his throat. A rope of smoky black light was extended from the curled fingers of Master Skywalker, looping tightly around the man's neck and dragging him upward. His feet, hovering several inches above the floor, began to twitch as he kicked his legs, seeking some purchase to stand on. He gagged, flailing his hands wildly in the air before him to beat away a grip that was not there.

_Force-choking_. It was a thing of the Sith, not the Jedi. It was a tactic of terror, of trauma, of torture.

Anakin's voice was cold when he said, "I find your lack of faith disappointing."

The prisoner was nearly blue, purple veins bulging out starkly on his face while his aura turned dull and pale, a mere flicker over his skin. Anakin's aura was near to solid black.

She didn't even realize she was trying to bolt forward, until Rex's free arm was suddenly around her waist, restraining, hauling her back. "He can't hear you!" Rex warned, sharply, twisting them both back around to send fresh looks of fury towards the Son, still standing so casually in the back of the room, his shadows accompanying him.

A loud, dull thud sounded through the room, then a frenzied gasp. They swiveled back towards Anakin and the prisoner, the latter now in a heap on the floor by the wall, curling in on himself while he tried to force air back into his lungs in a series of long, painful sounding wheezes and gasps. The red-blue flicker of his aura strengthened, steadied, though it was pale rather than bright.

And Anakin Skywalker stood passively on his side of the table, watching. His hands rested lightly on the tabletop.

For a long moment, Ahsoka let her hands rest gently on the uppermost of Rex's forearms, wrapped strongly around her chest, just below her collarbones. This was not right. This wasn't her Master. He wouldn'tdo such things. He'd been provoked.

She felt some of her own _anger_ boil to the surface, and she turned, slowly and calmly enough that Rex loosened his grip, though he did not release her. Her voice, though, was chill, and her aura cold and sharp when she said to the Son, "You did this."

The shadows deepened around him, until he was nothing but a pallid face and little red eyes. "I suggested. He acted."

Someone who was the embodiment of the Dark Side could only do dark things. Anakin was better than this. Ahsoka had a moment of her own blind _fury_ because she knew he was right. Anakin chose to act on his rage. Whether the man was guilty or not, a Jedi should be better, even with the Dark Side whispering in his ears.

She was a Jedi. A dead Jedi, but a Jedi. It was not easy, and it did not disappear, but she set her own _rage_ aside. Just for a moment. Just long enough to find somewhere to release it and sort through it and try to make sense of it. She wouldn't take after the Son.

Rex's arm slid back around her, ready to restrain her again, if necessary. Some of his light blue luminescence mingled with her dark blue, and as she saw them begin to pool and eddy together, she also began to feel a wave of _calm_.

Little red eyes watched them from the deepening shadows, little red eyes peering at the place where the colors of two ghosts blended and joined. Again, the Son said, "Interesting," and was swallowed by shadows and gone.

The room seemed only a little lighter. Shadows still clung, and though the ghost-lights of the room's four occupants, living and dead, helped to fill it, it was stained dark with an aura of _violence_.

Violence felt like _rot_.

Ahsoka brought her hands back onto Rex's forearm, fingers tight upon his arm plating. The _Resolute_ was not supposed to feel so dark. It was home.

The sound of the prisoner's gasping was slowing, replaced by the sound of deep heaving breaths. Anakin stood still and watched, his aura gleaming pitch black and frightening.

"Somewhere else," Ahsoka said quietly, squeezing her eyes shut and wishing them away. Her _rage_ was abruptly replaced with _sorrow_. "Where there's more light than darkness."

And they were gone.

* * *

><p>Though Ahsoka and Rex deal with being dead throughout the story, the 'mourning' chapters are pretty well over - and the rest of the story is beginning.<p>

Thank you, to everyone who so kindly took the time to review the last chapter! Admiral Daala, LongLiveTheClones, The Elven-Spear, sachariah, Jadedsnowtiger, Queen Ceilidh, Count Mallet, Fan (whoever you are!), InkStarsandSteelSkies, laloga, Sarge1995, ThatMandalorianChick and ThoseWereTheDays!

Til next time,

~Queen


	8. The Longest Night Gives Birth

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"<em>One thing that comes out of myths, for example,<em>

_is that at the bottom of the abyss comes the voice of salvation._

_The black moment is the moment when the real message of transformation is going to come._

_At the darkest moment comes the light."_

– _Joseph Campbell, "Power of Myth"_

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><p>Chapter 7. The Longest Night Gives Birth<p>

* * *

><p>It was dark.<p>

When Ahsoka lifted her head and opened her eyes again, it was darkness she saw, but it was not the dank gloom of the interrogation room. This darkness was crisp, the darkness of a night lit by stars. The shadows she saw were indigo shades cast by starlight.

They were standing on the lip of a large, decorative fountain in a wide plaza. A great sculpture of three dancing young women rose out from its center, clear water pouring out from the intricately carved chalices they bore in their hands. Their stone robes flowed around them wetly, almost transparently, clinging to their supple forms as though the stone was truly dampened from the water that splashed down into the pool below. Sculpted from opaque white quartz, they glittered and gleamed, ethereal, like a trinity of angels delivering fresh water to any who thirsted below.

And there were many people. The fountain itself was set atop a platform of smooth granite steps, upon which many people were sitting, mostly the elderly or parents with young tired children. The plaza was filled with people, young and old, male and female, all wearing similar white dress, the women in loose fitting shifts that flickered around their ankles while they walked, the men in knee-length tunics with equally white pants. Most were barefoot on the cobblestone ground, and those who were not were again the very young or the very old. All except the smallest younglings carried unlit white candles in their hands, or sat beside them on the steps. They gathered in groups, on the steps or in huddles across the plaza, in gatherings of friends or families. Small streams of cold breath puffed around their faces before quickly evaporating into the air, which was not quite chilly enough to maintain the fog. Here and there, a few women were wearing warm, colored shawls around their shoulders. Spirit-lights swirled around them in a rainbow of hues, gleaming in the rick darkness of night.

There was a hush upon the crowd, a sense of barely suppressed _excitement_ thrumming beneath the quiet voices that filled the plaza with rippling murmurs. Huge bronze censers were placed every few paces along the edges of the plaza, with fragrant white smoke rising up through filigreed lids and filling the square with the perfume of thick incense.

The plaza was lined with carved stone buildings only three or four stories tall, their faces white but for colorful draperies and bundles of bright flowers festooning deep porticos, their columns sculpted in deep reliefs or slender caryatids. The plaza itself was rectangular rather than truly square, and it sloped upward towards a white temple at one end. The closer to the temple the plaza became, the more dense the number of people gathered; though a few scattered lights were on in the surrounding buildings, the temple itself was the only one brightly lit, its friezes cast into a chiaroscuro of shadow and clearly sculpted stories running across the high pediments. Men and women in white robes edged with gold and red ran across a dais laid out across the entranceway busily; there was a massive open brazier there, piled high with wood still unlit.

Ahsoka's eyes drank in this sight, wide and surprised. She'd put little thought into where she wanted to go; only somewhere brighter than that interrogation room, where her Master nearly choked someone to death. She shivered at the memory of it, though the night was cold as well, and bore the tang of water in the air. It smelled of salt and sea, and the open sky was unmarred by clouds.

"Where are we?" she asked, tilted her head back to look at the stars Rex was already observing thoughtfully, brown eyes scanning the heavens.

"Somewhere in the Inner Rim," he replied thoughtfully, then tilted his head back down to look at the assembling host of beings filling the plaza. "On a Wroonian colony, by the looks of things."

He was probably right, Ahsoka decided. Stellar cartography wasn't her favorite subject, but she was more than proficient at it, and the constellations of the Inner Rim were familiar to most who spent any time in space. Though there were some humans and Twi'leks scattered through the crowd, the large majority sported the sleek black hair and turquoise skin of Wroonians.

"You didn't pick this place on purpose?" Rex asked her. She could feel his _concern_; it was written clearly on his face, and it flowed into her through his aura. She'd had several moments of such incredible _anger_, but now…she shook her head. She wanted to find somewhere quiet again. She didn't mind Rex, but if it didn't mean losing him permanently, she'd have gone to be alone for a little while. Master Skywalker wouldn't choke someone like that without reason – it was grotesque. He was provoked; it wasn't his fault. It was the Son's. He was being manipulated. All the more reason to learn to speak, to be seen; Skyguy would listen to her. They argued a lot, and bickered a lot, but he'd _listen_. She'd _make_ him listen. Anakin joined forces with the Son on Mortis before, but he came back, returned to normal. He did the right thing when it counted, and the Dark Side didn't take him. He turned against the Son, then. He'd do the same after she knocked some sense back into that thick skull of his. Then the Son would see what it meant to make _choices_.

Rex's free hand came down onto her shoulder, and she lifted her head. He was looking down at her, still _concerned_. His blue-gold light was flickering up over her colors, slipping up her forearm and down her shoulder, merging into hers and lending it a stronger luster. She smiled weakly up at him, then down at his broad chest, more level with her eyes. So close. It'd be easy, to take just a half step forward and lean against him. It sounded childish, but she simply wanted a hug. She wavered once, resisting, then, to distract herself, said, "I think I let the Force decide. I just wanted away."

There was a pause, and Rex squeezed her shoulder, encouraging. "Looks like a nice place."

Ahsoka laughed, but it came out half a sob, and she bit her lip. She'd allow herself a moment of childishness. She took a half step forward and pressed her forehead into Rex's armored chest, finding it warm against her face, echoing with a memory of a heartbeat that couldn't truly be there. After several seconds of hesitation, she felt Rex's hand slide down from her shoulder onto her back, and press her a little closer, consolingly. A ripple of _strength_ flowed out from where his hand met the small of her back.

She did not weep, but there was water in her eyes, or seemed to be. After a long moment, she pulled back enough to wipe at the unshed tears with the back of a hand. She said softly, "Thank you."

As a response, Rex removed his hand from her back, easing away, though tendrils of buttery yellow light trailed after him, clinging to the shifting shades of Ahsoka's aura. It still felt like too much; her death, his death, and seeing her Master try to kill a man by such deplorable means.

The people in the plaza seemed so peaceful in contrast; they were excited about something, _happy_. Their energy charged the space with something near to electricity, like static jumping from one person to the next. Their luminosity ran into each other, setting the plaza alight with many dancing colors.

Though unsure of precisely what planet they were on, the people looked content, well-fed. The war hadn't reached this close to the Core; this was likely a wealthy world, a civilized world full of ordinary people. These were the kinds of people she and Rex fought for, died for. Though they were oblivious to their presence on the ledge of the great fountain, Ahsoka felt a moment of affinity with them. They were civilians, and innocent of the war, but there was an energy to them, a _goodness_ and a _clarity_ to the way they spoke in quiet, eager tones. There was some celebration at hand, she realized, some kind of festival. Something that required staying up until the middle of the night and candles that would have to be lit against the dark. They were so much like fresh recruits to the 501st, all shiny with their unsoiled clothes and spirits so clean and bright. There was nothing of the foulness of the Dark Side here. Their white clothing seemed to stand in opposition to it, declaring them untainted. She wanted to stay like that, without that touch of the Dark.

Rex's sudden movement drew her abruptly from her wandering thoughts. He was looking at her, scanning head to toe, wide-eyed, with his lips slightly parted from his dropped jaw. He took a step back, their arms stretching out a little, and Ahsoka looked down at herself to see what he was staring at.

She was wearing a white shift. Pinned at either shoulder, it draped, simple and plain and shapeless, down to her ankles, identical to the clothing the local women were wearing. She twisted to look over her back. Her lekku trailed down over the shift, nearly down to her waist, where the fabric was slightly gathered at her hips by a cord.

"What did you do?"

She gave him a strange, astonished look. "I don't know, I was just thinking about clean they all look." Rex gave her a puzzled expression, and she shook her head, unsure as she tried to explain. "I mean, shiny. You know. Like new recruits. Happy, too. Without the Dark Side." She looked again down at herself and swiveled her waist around a few times, experimentally, oblivious to the sudden consternation Rex was displaying at her sudden bout of feminine hip-swaying. "Their clothes, they kind of represent being…well, not Dark. Light side. I thought it'd be nice, to be like that."

She ran a hand over the white garment, her russet hand standing out warmly against the pure white. She picked at a bit of the cloth, holding it out experimentally and watching its drape for a moment before releasing it to fall back into the rest of the skirt. Her toes peeped out from beneath the hem, curling. Well, at least this meant they weren't stuck in fighting gear and armor for all eternity, but this wasn't quite what she had in mind either. But it was _something_ – the first new thing either of them had been able to do since they catapulted themselves away from Mortis that first time.

That meant the next step was obvious. If she could do it, Rex should be able to as well. "You try," she commanded, determined.

Rex looked down at his armor, edged in blue, skeptically. "Not sure I want to change. It might not come back."

Of course he wouldn't want to lose his armor. It was one of the few things that any of the clones truly owned. The pauldron on his shoulder, the kama slung low around his hips, his helmet now clipped to his belt – they were his, even if they weren't there any more than her normal clothes. They were memories, thoughts, remembrances brought with them into this strange afterlife. Ahsoka pressed her lips together, thoughtfully. Clothes. She'd wanted to have clothes like the locals, and she had them. Could it be so simple? Just to wish herself into what she wanted? That was, more or less, how transporting worked. She closed her eyes, bent her head, and willed herself back into her regular clothing, all form fitting top, leggings, boots and traditional Togruta sash at her skirt. Her usual clothes, her comfortable clothes, that which she wore every day.

And when she opened her eyes again, they opened just in time to see the last roils of her ghost-light resolving back into her previous clothing, everything just how it was a moment ago. A fierce grin broke out on her face, and she beamed at Rex proudly. "Looks like I learned a new trick. Your turn. Just think of yourself in something else. That's it. Rex, it's easy!"

Rex looked still looked skeptical, so Ahsoka tugged at his arm a little, eager and encouraging. It was a step forward. A small step, but there nonetheless. At her urging, Rex slowly bent his head and closed his eyes, lips twisted into a grimace as he tried to repeat Ahsoka's trick. As she watched, the corona of light around him began to shiver and twist, beginning at the crown of his head and moving downward, reshaping as it went. It got as far as his waist before it stopped, and Ahsoka guffawed, covering her mouth with a hand.

Rex was wearing the loose white shirt the Wroonian men were wearing, but with his pure white leg armor, boots, and kama below it. "Nice, Rex." He frowned at her for a moment, but all that did was add to the comic effect, and Ahsoka laughed again. "Try again," she urged, and with a wordless grumble, he did. His aura clouded and condensed, swirling rapidly down the shape of his legs and leaving him in loose white pants and shoeless. This time, her smile was not one of _amusement_, but of _pride_, and Rex's _annoyance_ faded away somewhere between Ahsoka's smiling and the accomplishment of changing clothes. Cinched at the waist, the loose clothing fit him comfortably, elegantly hinting at the definition of his body, and the whiteness stood in cool contrast to his browned skin. Ahsoka had never seen him outside of his armor or the dull grey softclothes he wore for exercise or sleep. Though the traditional, foreign garb was different, it suited him, she decided. He looked like some conquering hero or stern god from some old Naboo or Chandrilan myth, human and ancient and powerful. Her smile deepened, as did the dark chevrons on her montrals.

She glanced away, back over the crowd; something was starting to happen. One by one, the remaining lights around the plaza were winking out, and many of those who were previously sitting were climbing to their feet. From the streets that led into the plaza, some stragglers were hurrying in to join the throng. There was little free space, and the area was near to full. The temple standing tall and white was the only thing still lit, and even upon the stage set up before it, several of the lights were being turned off, casting the building's white portico into deeper shade.

She turned to face the temple fully, and with the motion, the long white shift sluiced back down over her shoulders in a swirl of aquamarine ghost-light. The crowd grew quieter as more of the electric lights on the temple dimmed and went out, plunging them all into darkness in stages.

As each light went out, the _anticipation_ of the crowd leapt higher as they gripped their candles in hand. "What do you think it is?" Rex asked her, his voice quiet though no one else could hear them.

Ahsoka shrugged and shook her head, lekku swaying. "A local ritual of some kind. Religious, probably."

The last light went out, and a hush fell over the assembly. Figures were moving slowly across the temple dais, their white clothed forms visible against the dark, taking up positions. One figure stood in its center, just before the great golden brazier and the mountain of wood within it.

Then a quiet singing could be heard. It was faint at first, feminine, high, and alone. One of the white clothed women on the dais was swaying, her blue hands lifted skyward. An elaborate headdress of gold gave her a dim halo in the dark. Other voices began to ring out behind her, some soprano, some tenor, until the entire group on the dais was singing, and their voices carried richly through the night, drifting through the plaza, low and sad and deep. A shiver ran through the audience, and some began to join the hierophants in their slow song. The paean remained a capella, and took on various resonating notes through the slow build of new voices joining.

Then the priestess in the golden headdress turned from her place in the center of the dais and approached the brazier, bending low and towards it. The song paused, lengthening out into a low hum of expectation.

Something golden gleamed. Bright but small, it leapt within the heart of the brazier, growing stronger. The white robed figure of the priestess was cast into shadow, though the headdress on her head caught the light of the new flames and shone when she turned, arms outstretched. Her voice, though distant from their spot on the edge of the fountain, was still clear. "_The longest night gives birth to longer days_," she cried out, and the low hum of thousands of throats repeated her words. "_The longest night gives birth to longer days_," they sang as the fire in the brazier grew steadily more powerful. The pungent smell of green wood began to rise up to mingle with the sweet smelling incense pluming out of the smaller braziers placed around the plaza. It grew, brighter and brighter, until the great brazier contained a blazing yellow bonfire. Sparks drifted upward currents of wind, out into the open night sky. The reliefs of old heroes and monsters carved into the temple's pediment began to dance in the night from the flickering interplay of firelight and shadow, their old battles coming to life once more.

And the people sang, and sang, the same stanzas over again in some old dialect Ahsoka could not quite understand. Fresh movement at the dais signaled a new event unfolding, and several of the acolytes were moving from the bonfire with thick, beribboned candles in their hands, their wicks lit. They moved out into the crowd, pausing here and there to light the outstretched candles of the men and women waiting. Once two or three spectators had their candles lit, the acolytes moved on to another cluster of watchers. The firelight was passed from one person to the next, the warm yellow candlelight spreading across the plaza like a slow wave, shared between friends and neighbors as they sang, chasing away the night with thousands of little lights. The glow of the candles reflected up into faces, illuminating turquoise skin and glinting off golden irises.

As the acolytes penetrated the crowd as far as the fountain, it became easier to see them. They carried their candles in their right hands, while in their left each clutched a sheaf of gold-brown wheat. As each acolyte finished spreading the light, they lifted the wheat overhead, and the gathering crowd parted enough to let each pass deeper into the assembly.

The wheat. Ahsoka blinked once, then placed her free hand on Rex's upper arm, drawing his attention. "I think I know where we are," she said, glancing up at him. Though the sun-and-sky colors of his aura still clung to him, he was lit by the warmth of the candlelight. "There's a planet in the Bestine sector, not far from Wroona that's a granary planet. I can't remember the name of it, though."

He paused, looking at her for a long moment, then blinked once, hard, brows drawing together. Then he said, abruptly, "Kolchis. Bestine sector, off the Rimma Trade Route, 26,000 light years from the Core. Temperate. Primary export is grain."

Ahsoka stared at him for a moment, then lifted an eyebrow. "You know, I kind of wish they flash trained us at the Temple."

Rex gave her a dry look. "You want to study in your sleep, too?" Ahsoka made a sour face, and Rex chuckled for a moment before growing more somber. "This must be some kind of midwinter festival."

She nodded, looking over the assembly, still singing, their voices rising in undulating tones, trilling at one moment while growing deep and slow the next. The weather was cold, but not freezing, indicating they were in a temperate zone's winter period. _The longest night gives birth to longer days_. "Winter solstice, I bet. It must be the longest night of their year. If this is a temperate farming world, they'll be preparing for the dry months."

The song reached the crescendo of a stanza, and the crowd lifted their candles. The little flames bobbed on a sea of many colored auras, light swimming on top of light. They flickered in the wind.

It was not easy, with so many people gathered, to filter through what their emotions were. They tangled themselves around each other, each person's individual strand of emotion knitting into the larger tapestry they wove together. The uppermost layers were the brightest, _hope_ cresting in blue waves while breaking against the sunlight colors of _courage_ and the deep greens of _strength_ and rich reds of _determination_. For a moment, she could not only sense the feelings of others, but _see_ them in the way their spirit-lights danced; but their motion was too swift and subtle to be truly teased out, and she let herself drift, down into the deeper, darker emotions that lay beneath. The shivering yellows of _fear_, the weary blues of _dissatisfaction_, the dull greens of _weakness, _the murky reds of_ confusion_.

Though those darker shades were buffeted by the brighter ones, the longer they sang and the longer they lifted their little lights in the black of night.

_The longest night gives birth to longer days_. Out of the longest dark, the light would grow again. It was an eerie concept, something old and cyclical that she never really thought about much, living on a world like Coruscant, where there was no real change of seasons and the environment was all artificial. The Togruta had some concept of it, she knew, but her understanding was vague and the themes not related to planting and harvesting, but instead to hunting and following herds. This place was so unlike Coruscant. It felt like Shili; it felt _old_, though in a different way. It felt like the Temple, but without the doors closed to the populace and the asceticism of the Jedi. This strange ceremony was being conducted under an open sky, and open to all.

How old was the dance between the Dark Side and the Light? Ahsoka's hand was still on Rex's arm, from where she placed it a minute ago to catch his attention. She let her fingers curl around his bicep. She felt no cold from the air, but the contact warmed her. A heavy hand settled on top of hers. Ahsoka looked up at Rex for a moment, who was looking down at her. She smiled, gave him a single playful nudge with her shoulder, then settled in to watch the rest of the spectacle, however it would play out before them.

The lights they held in the dark gave her hope.

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><p>Had either of them turned and look back, beyond the glittering forms of the water bearing statues in the fountain, they would, perhaps, have seen a figure towering half again as tall as any of the beings there. Had they turned back, they may have seen her rising out of the crowd, her white light flowing like a tide into the candles and their brightness.<p>

Had they looked back, they would, perhaps, have seen the small, hopeful smile playing at the corners of the Daughter's lips as she watched them, before she shattered, scattering out across the crowd and mingling into a thousand small flames of light.

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><p>There are so many influences in this chapter. I'm playing around with a lot of mythology in this story, so there's bits of pieces of many different things getting wrapped up into each other. Much of the architecture referred to in this chapter is Greek, particularly Doric in style (think the Parthenon). 'Kolchis' is a variation on the spelling 'Colchis', a location in several Greek myths, most notably <em>Jason and the Golden Fleece<em>. The idea of spreading light through candles at a dark time can also be found in Greece, though it is a generally held Orthodox Christian event performed at midnight services on Easter, symbolizing the returning of light into the world after Christ's death. Obviously, I've given it a much more pagan theme here and changed the time of year. Many cultures also celebrate the Winter Solstice, also known as the midwinter, which similarly symbolizes the returning of light into the world and have celebrations that predate Christianity. The solstice represents the longest night of the year, and the lengthening of daylight. This is also a theme that plays out in mythology, according to Joseph Campbell, who is quoted at the beginning of this chapter. I highly recommend his _The Power of Myth_.

The music for the chapter is Lisa Gerrard and Hans Zimmer's _Rome is the Light_ from the soundtrack to _Gladiator_. You can find it on YouTube, if you'd like to hear it.

~Queen


	9. A Hand on a Belly

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"<em>After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."<em>

_Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone_

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><p>Chapter 8. A Hand on a Belly<p>

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><p>The music floated through the air.<p>

Ahsoka twirled slowly as she danced to the slow sound, shimmersilk skirt swirling around her like a sparkling sapphire river. Rex spun her around; he felt clumsy and unpracticed, and wasn't sure exactly how Ahsoka had talked him into this in the first place, but somehow, between a pair of enormously wide blue eyes, a hopeful smile, and the pretty mimicry of a dress fit for a Senator of Naboo, he found himself awkwardly stumbling along. Ahsoka seemed happy enough about it, leading as much as being led around the spacious living area of the good Senator's apartment. He lifted his right hand, and without releasing it, Ahsoka twirled around once before stopping and resting her free hand on the crook of his other arm. She beamed up at him, aura flickering bright with pleasure, and he tried to beat back the feeling of awkwardness. He wasn't a dancer, and really neither was she, but he liked seeing her happy.

Kolchis had not strayed far from his thoughts, since the moment they left. Ahsoka said she could feel them, the wishes and hopes of people looking forward to a new year, a different season, brighter days. Rex couldn't sort through things in the Force that way, but he felt those same emotions Ahsoka was describing himself. Though it was a solemn event, there was a lightness to it, a brightening. He left Kolchis thoughtful, but refreshed, feeling cleansed somehow. They spent a day on Shili, resting, walking through the turu-grass, and meditating on what they'd seen. Meditation, though, involved the two of them reflecting and discussing, more than it meant sitting in silence. They spent a few hours running as well. The physical activity felt good, even if he never broke a sweat and never tired. The familiarity of exercise was calming, normal. It'd taken them some time to figure out how to run in tandem without tripping over each other. Someday, he suspected, they'd experiment with sparring, but too much physical activity risked breaking their handfast.

They decided to try Senator Amidala again. Both doubted Anakin would be in the luxurious apartments on a second visit, and he was not. Still, it was the last place they'd seen him looking more bright than dark, and they both hoped that perhaps the Senator might be able to get through to him in some way they could not, at least not yet. So they returned to the Senator's ritzy 500 Republica address, to make whatever observations they could.

So far, they discovered the Senator worked a lot. She also liked shuura-fruit glazed chocolate cakes, tea, classical music, and curling up on her luxuriously appointed couch with her feet tucked under her knees and her thighs as a desktop. She also muttered to herself and rolled her eyes quite frequently when she signed off on certain items on her datapad. Her stylus would fly with exasperation and she'd finish her name with an aggravated flourish. Then she'd sigh and lean back into her pillows for a moment with her eyes closed, before sending off whatever flimisiwork she'd completed. Her hair fell loose around her shoulders, and her nimbus of spirit-light glowed a contented, warm orangey-blue.

"I wonder for how long," Ahsoka said, glancing thoughtfully towards the woman as she shifted her weight from foot to foot, keeping them in slow synch to the floating sound of the waltz now drifting through the apartment. "They've been together, I mean."

The first time Rex met Senator Amidala, it was early in the war, and briefly. She was serving as an envoy, and the 501st serving as her escort. He'd only glimpsed real women before, mingled in ground crews and groups of techs, and they were among the masses of refugees left after battles. The Senator was actually the first one he ever spoke to who was actually standing still, looking at him, and speaking to him in turn. She was very pretty, but not quite as flawless as the pictures of women some of his brothers would post up on walls, and much more covered up with fabric, swathed from head to toe in some sort of lacy yellow ensemble that looked very delicate. It was something he associated with her, that delicacy. There was a refinement to the Senator he little understood, and, at the time, assumed all women were the same. Ahsoka had since trampled all over that particular notion, with her brash, straightforward personality, and he'd learned that women were just as varied in character as any brother was. Still, Senator Amidala had greeted him that day in the landing bay and smiled at him. She inclined her head gracefully, the soft drapes of yellow lace flowing forward at the movement, and she greeted him with a voice that seemed very mellow compared to the rougher, deeper, male tones he was accustomed to.

He'd reddened a bit, under his helmet, but otherwise maintained his composure admirably. He hadn't stared, hadn't softened his gaze, hadn't tried to take advantage of her presence and chat with her, simply for the novelty of hearing more of a feminine voice.

General Skywalker, though, did all of those things. There was a wry warmth in her voice when she called him "_Master Skywalker_", and it was reflected back at her with an equally solicitous "_Senator Amidala_." Their eyes strayed infrequently from the other's, and there was a softness that was subtle in both of their expressions.

For a man who spent all ten years of his life learning to spot subtle differences in faces and expressions, it was quite clear something unusual was going on, but he didn't quite understand what it was. Not at first. As weeks and months passed, and Ahsoka arrived, he started to understand their behavior was not the same towards each other as it was towards others of the opposite gender. General Skywalker certainly didn't treat Ahsoka the way he treated the Senator, and Ahsoka didn't treat General Skywalker the way the Senator did either. Ahsoka also didn't look at any of his brothers the way the Senator looked at the General, a fact for which he was grateful. It was bad enough having his brothers lovelorn over the scantily clad women in posters; having any of them mooning over Ahsoka would be troublesome, though as she aged there were more and more of them trying to monopolize her in the mess and coax her into spending time with them.

It was during the aftermath of the Blue Shadow Virus incident on Naboo when he finally grasped the difference in behavior. The General would visit them all in the medicenter as they recuperated, and he was able to see the way their interactions played out, one after another. With Rex, Skywalker was, as always, friendly but professional in demeanor. He and Ahsoka bickered incessantly, though usually good-naturedly.

Skywalker and Amidala _flirted_.

"Since the beginning of the war, at least," he decided. The Senator sat up, picked up another little shuura-chocolate cake, and bit into it. She seemed thoughtful, staring at the ceiling while she chewed. "It's not supposed to be allowed, is it?"

Ahsoka sighed heavily and shrugged, their half-waltz, half-shuffle ceasing as she considered. Rex's right hand continued to clasp her left, while his left hand rested on her hip. Ahsoka's right hand continued to linger on his elbow while she spoke. "No. It's part of the rules of non-attachment." She frowned. "Jedi aren't supposed to form attachments to people, at least not ones like we saw." Her face softened a little, though. "It can be hard, though. I understand we're supposed to devote ourselves to the Force, and to the caring of people who need help, but it's difficult to be so strict about it. We're so much in the world, Rex." She bit her lip, white teeth standing out against the darkness of her mouth. "I'm not saying we shouldn't learn the ways of the Force, or that we should allow ourselves to be distracted from our ideals, but sometimes, the right thing to do is to try to protect the ones you care about."

There was something, then, in the furtive way she looked up at him, at that particular moment, that he realized, quite suddenly, that she was thinking of him. He could not _feel_ her concern, but he could _see_ it in the deep cobalt blue of her light, which mingled ever so caressingly into his.

She died protecting him. Or trying to.

He knew they must have been close by each other, when it happened. One of the last things he remembered before Mortis was the steady thrum of lightsabers, one green, one yellow…and somewhere not too much further away, one blue. The rest was ash and dirt, the roar of cannon fire, the shouting of men and the dying of men, and the tread of boots warring with the clank of droids.

Ahsoka had turned away from him, back towards the Senator, her lips twisted to one side now as she worried at the lower one with her teeth. Her lekku swayed back and forth slowly, the meaning of which he could only guess at. Thoughtfulness, he supposed. Consideration and worry. Hope that the Senator could help the General.

She didn't need to protect him. It wasn't because of the gap between her being a Jedi and him being a clone. She was killed because she thought of him as a friend, someone worth protecting in spite of the threat to herself and the rest of the company. She stopped because she cared about him. If she'd followed the rules she'd been taught, she'd be alive now. She'd have left him and fought on, dedicated to her duty.

But she saw him as part of her duty, as someone to protect.

The thought warmed him, but chilled him, too. If that were true, it was his fault she was dead. She should have left him where he fell. She would be alive now, if she had.

It was the sort of thing brothers expected of each other, one sacrificing himself for his squad, his comrades, his friends or pod-mates. It was expected of them as soldiers, to protect their commanders, even while their commanders protected them. But the kind of protections commanders offered were those of good leadership, of example, of courage; he couldn't stop for every man down because there were dozens of others who needed his guidance in the immediate moment. Ahsoka should have known that. He'd die alone a dozen times over if it kept her alive.

He wanted to be angry, to tell her she'd erred, but there was such a feeling of gratitude within him as well that all he could say was: "You should have left me."

Ahsoka lifted her head and tilted it quizzically, as though she did not quite understand him. "I wasn't going to leave you. You needed help." Her spirit-light fluctuated and flickered warmly toward him, supportive and encouraging.

She'd be alive if she hadn't stopped. He grimaced, and Ahsoka's white brows drew together in concern. "You stopped to help me and were killed in the process. I'm just one man. You were the Commander. You had others to worry about and you stopped for me and were killed because of it. I don't know much about Jedi rules, but you shouldn't have stopped."

The supportive caress of her aura retreated and grew small around her at his words, slowly extricating itself from where it had pooled into his. It quivered, flat and uncertain along her skin. She did not move, except to lower her head. They stood there for a long moment, arms and hands still locked in their dance positions though each was still, until Ahsoka said, "But it felt right," and her hands tightened around his. "And you wouldn't have left me." When she lifted her head again, her aura deepened into a determined blue blaze, stubborn and insistent and beautiful.

Maybe she shouldn't have stopped for him. It was unwise and reckless and had gotten her killed, and right now, she looked like she'd do the exact same thing again if given the choice. It was wrong, but it was also right, and it was the kindest thing anyone had ever done for him.

He twitched, stopping himself before the motion was more than a flinch forward, but his spirit-light gave lie to his restraint, flowing out from him and down his arms and wrapping around her in wide bands of yellow and blue. The ferocity of her gaze softened as she noticed this, and a wan smile softened her expression until it became a single, soft laugh.

Then she closed the small distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, lightly, in a hug. "I needed one of these the other day, too."

Her arms were thin and wiry with muscle, and the richness of her aurora-colors clashed with his in swirls of daylight and nightlight. Her cheek was against his chest, and the dark tip of her left montral curved just high enough to hover a bare inch away from his lips. If he puckered, he could kiss it.

The thought sent a shiver through him, and he retreated. Ahsoka leaned back and looked at him warmly before her montrals darkened in color and she tilted her head in such a way that she was looking up at him almost shyly, through her lashes. "I guess I just can't live without you, _Captain_," she teased, her aura flickering playfully around his.

She was only trying to lighten the moment, he knew, but there was something in the sly tone, the lighthearted manner, the way his rank rolled around her tongue as she said it that he recognized, had seen before: Ahsoka was flirting with him.

But she stopped as soon as she started, and the twining of their auras lessened back into its usual light caress, and she slid out of their loose embrace to reposition her right hand on his arm, and her left hand in his, and tugged him back into the silly, shuffling waltz they'd been trying.

It was a strange little shambling spin they made, rotating around each other and trying not to step on each other's feet. Though he didn't understand why she wanted to wear a replica of one of the Senator's dresses while they danced, he didn't wonder. If she wanted to look pretty, or different, that was her concern, and he wouldn't question it, even if her usual clothing was more functional. The diaphanous blue dress flowed around her, draping and swaying, and if he wanted to move his hand from its polite resting space at her hip, and onto her back, there would be warm, bared skin there to touch instead.

Rex thought, distantly, while not trying to step on her feet, that Ahsoka was both the most confusing person he'd ever met.

* * *

><p>Sitting on the couch, Padme leaned back into the wealth of her plush pillows. She did so enjoy chocolate, though these past couple weeks, she seemed to crave it more than usual.<p>

It was something to get used to, she supposed, and there were far worse things in the galaxy than the craving of chocolate.

She lifted one fine boned hand and placed it on her flat belly with a knowing little smile.

* * *

><p>This was actually the very first image I got in mind for this story; Rex and Ahsoka randomly dancing in Padme's apartment. It wasn't the first thing I wrote down, but it was the first idea, and I really wanted to keep it in here somewhere.<p>

Also, here is me making Padme a chocoholic again. She just seems the type!

~Queen


	10. What Went Unseen and Unheard

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us,<em>

_with nothing to show for our progress except a memory and the smell of smoke,_

_and a presumption that our eyes once watered."_

_-Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_

* * *

><p>Chapter 9. What Went Unseen and Unheard<p>

* * *

><p>The candles burned brightly before her, dancing slowly on their wicks.<p>

Her quarters were small, and darkened from the dimmed lights; the room was lit only by the pair of buttery yellow candles and the glow they cast. Sitting on the floor before her desk, she reached out with a fingertip and pressed a button on the base of the small holoprojector that sat between the candles, then scrolled forward through the first few pictures until she reached the one she sought. The image was translucent, ghostly, moreso now because one of the people in the picture had passed into the Force. Ahsoka's face was smiling wildly, eyes lit up with laughter and cheek smushed up against her own. Barriss' smile was more serene, her eyes scrunched at the corners with amusement, and one of her hands was half up to her mouth to cover it as she laughed.

It was not the last time Barriss saw Ahsoka, but it was the only picture she had of her friend. She lowered her eyes, placed her hands on her knees. Ahsoka was gone, and she felt a deep sadness at the loss. "You are missed," she said, gently, before closing her eyes fully and clearing her mind to meditate.

If she heard the words, "_I miss you too_," spoken in reply, she did not respond.

* * *

><p>It was the ship's morning, and the words fell from his lips silently. They shaped words first- "<em>Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum," – <em>and then names – "_Rim, Dart, Locks, Flick, Jay, Din, Clock, Grim_…."

And the names went on and on as he sat on the edge of his bunk with his elbows on his knees and his head bent and dark hair unkempt around his ears. He started with the oldest and worked his way to the most recent. It was not a ceremony he could keep daily; there were too many, far too many, even for him to remember, and the process would take hours if he said them all. Too many served with him, and too many served too short a time. Those were the ones that bothered him the most – did they have anyone to remember them? He didn't know, but he tried for the ones he could remember.

He'd never felt a deep connection to the Mandalorian ways, but the simple ceremony served as something to keep men with short lives living a little longer. It filled an empty spot, provided a tradition where there otherwise would not be one.

The last two names he said were not the most recent – not after the past weeks and the battles they contained – but they were names a bit closer to heart, and so they were said last and with a little bit more difficulty. He paused, then repeated, "_Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum…Ahsoka…Rex…and to all those I've forgotten." _

And then Cody stood, and became the fearless Commander Cody again, and went to prepare for his day.

If he felt a pair of hands come down on his shoulders when he spoke, he did not feel them, though one was small and delicate and firm, and the other was large and strong and identical to his own.

* * *

><p>Meditation always eased his mind, and after centuries of practice, he welcomed the clarity with ease. He sat comfortably on his small round couch, long fingers curling over his folded knees and long ears drooping downward. If there was any ache in his body from arthritis, it was swept away skillfully by the application of a current of the Force, and it swelled within him and around him with the ease of much familiarity and practice.<p>

Something eddied oddly this day, just on the fringes of his senses, a swirling blur of colors that seemed intent on hovering at the edges of his perception. A helix of vibrant sapphire and emerald spun near to a core of sky blue wrapped in strands of sunlight gold. There was a warmth to the colors, a _hope_ that bordered on _desperation_, but the more he tried to reach out, to slide the Force around those two whorls of color and feeling, the further they seemed to retreat, to fragment, to slip away.

At length, Yoda opened his eyes and sighed, unable to decipher what it was, though there was a familiarity to it. It reminded him of the man who sometimes haunted his dreams, whispering lost secrets of how to linger on after death. This, though, was too indistinct. He could not grasp what – or who – it was.

And so he did not hear a sad voice say, "_He can't hear us either_."

* * *

><p>Sorrow was to be accepted, but not clung to, and he accepted his sadness for what it was.<p>

The girl had been so tiny when he brought her to the temple, full of smiles and attempts at childish mischief, though she'd cried and cried when she'd left her home and the only familiar faces she knew. But when she was older, she had forgotten those faces, and replaced them with new ones, and found a home amid her peers and her teachers, and she thrived.

Plo would be accepting his sadness for Ahsoka Tano for a long time. Her fingers were a burnt sienna, like all of her species, and not a dissimilar color to his own. Her little hand looked so much like a little Kel Dorian girl's, and if he did not pay too much attention to their differences, he could almost imagine she was more Kel Dor, or he was more Togruta, and she was his if he had never been a Jedi or disallowed such things as daughters.

There were too many dead, before their time. The field of grain that would soon be a field of battle stretched out before him, and a deflector shield was rising in its pastel brightness above him as he stood on the crest of a hill. The sounds of walkers rumbled behind him, and the tread of footsteps, and together they made the ground tremble.

If someone told him, "_May the Force be with you_," he did not notice it, amid all the preparation for war.

* * *

><p>She sat before the mirror, in her dressing gown that reached the floor. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, but would not be so for long; an array of hairpins, ties, and assorted accessories lay in a glittering, albeit neatly organized, display before her. A brush ran through her hair, and she tilted her head to the side so that it flowed more smoothly over her left shoulder. She watched herself brush her hair out, shaking out the locks periodically before altering her grip on the brush handle and combing from a different angle; sometimes from her scalp, sometimes from midway down the length of her hair. She tried to ignore the morning rumble in her belly; there was nothing to come back up yet, and she sighed and breathed deeply, hoping the queasiness would abate. She was healthy. Everything was fine. The nausea was normal.<p>

She just hoped she wasn't going to get sick in the middle of the Senate chamber. She closed her eyes, breathed in again, deep, then released it slow and long. When she opened her eyes again, she squinted. There was a strange glint gleaming off the edge of the round mirror on her dresser. Padme glanced over her shoulder at the window. It was odd, the light wasn't right for this time of day, and the two vague blurs of light were oddly bluish in hue. She frowned a little, but the light seemed to be fading out. It had to be some glare from the window, she supposed, then sighed.

The hair baubles lay out neatly before her. The one made of sapphires and emeralds seem to look a bit more attractive than the rest today, catching the light and glittering cheerfully. She smiled a bit and picked it up. It was a simpler clip than most of the others, with a flower pattern made from the cut gems instead of a heavy encrustation of stones. It was delicate, and it was some time since she last wore it.

Padme did not hear the words, "_You look better with it down_," but decided that, perhaps today, since she was feeling a bit off, she would do things simply and wear her hair down instead of in its usual elaborate hairpiece.

* * *

><p>No one stood at Anakin's right hand, but every so often, he turned a bit to speak to the empty space. No one stood at his left hand either, but once in awhile, he would look over his shoulder with words half formed, to ask a question of a man who was not there. Then there would be a flinch, a grimace, and a grim continuation of the plan at hand.<p>

Cody was better, but he made the motion also, turning towards an empty space that was once filled by a trooper in blue marked armor. With his helmet on, it was impossible to see his eyes, but there was a tilt to his body that suggested he noticed the absence on Anakin's right, as well.

Obi-Wan lowered his head, looking down at the holoprojector and tried not to frown too deeply. Schematics hovered before him, and Admiral Yularen continued to talk, his hands occasionally moving out to change the graphic.

They were missing people on this mission. It was not the first mission since their deaths, but Anakin grew more agitated rather than less as time passed. It was too soon to suggest another Padawan, but he would need a Commander to assist him. He kept refusing a replacement for Captain Rex, and it was wearing on everyone. They would need to talk, and soon. Things could not fall apart. Not with so much at stake.

Obi-Wan did not see the two figures moving around the projector, standing first to Anakin's left, and later to Anakin's right. Neither did he hear the constant stream of advice and information that was interjected into their discussion.

But then, none of them did.

* * *

><p>Faster. Stronger. Better.<p>

They would pay. They would pay, but that was wrong, to take revenge, but they would pay and he would end this war, and what they were doing was _not enough_. If they'd just done more, worked harder, _did what was necessary_, this wouldn't have happened. His fault, for not being fast enough, for not being strong enough, for not protecting her the way he was supposed to, and he would make them all pay for all they pain they were causing, and all the suffering, and all the death, and then it would be _better_ somehow. He didn't know how, but this was not the way the galaxy should be, and he was helpless to do anything to stop it, to keep the people he cared about alive, and they kept getting _taken_ from him. And he _should_ be able to stop it, because he was a Jedi, and he was powerful, and if he just had more speed, more strength, more power, he'd be able to do whatever he wanted, and keep them alive, like they should be, his mother and his apprentice and any number of others he knew in passing down the years.

They burned, the feelings he had, and he tried to work them out with exercise and cool them with sweat. The blue glow of his lightsaber was serene, but even that annoyed him. It was too soft, too peaceful a color. It hummed around him in fierce arcs as he moved, swift, sure and lethal through a _kata_, his muscles remembering the steps with the ease of a lifetime of practice, though he sped through the motions with a rage and a fury that kindled more than it dwindled.

It was late in the ship's night. The exercise area was deserted. No one heard his hoarse scream as he jabbed outward, driving the point of his blade into the unseen face of an unseen enemy.

Rex was gone by the time he reached them. He managed to pull Ahsoka up into his arms and scream for a medic before he felt the last few moments of her life drain away and the brightly gleaming rope of their bond unravel and slip away somewhere in the Force, somewhere he could not follow. She couldn't even focus on him, couldn't even speak one or two last words the way his mother did before she was gone too, and then there was only a blind red rage in his eyes, and he was a blur of death moving against anyone who tried to stand before him. He hated them all, and it frightened him, and he knew to be silent because it was forbidden to be angry and frightened. He was a Jedi. He should be capable of _more_. Of saving those worth saving. Of protecting those who needed protecting. And he failed. Too many times.

There was only one more person left, so close to him. He would _not_ let anyone take her from him. No one.

He missed her. He missed them all.

* * *

><p>Ahsoka's voice was small. "I'm afraid." She watched Anakin with round worried eyes as he hacked the air again and again, violently cutting through waves of unseen enemies, aura stark black to the point of absorbing any light around it, like a dead star. Her shoulders rounded, and she drew in on herself, flinching as another hoarse cry sounded from the General.<p>

Rex switched hands with her, exchanging his right hand for his left, and placed his newly freed hand on her right shoulder, drawing her in a bit closer. She let herself be pulled in, but her shoulders remained stiff and she did not seem at all comforted.

Another rough yell filled the room, and Rex felt her flinch again. He couldn't offer her any words.

The General was starting to frighten him, too.


	11. Tales of Clones and Togrutas

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>Chapter 10. Tales of Clones and Togrutas<p>

* * *

><p>They lay under Shili's night sky, amid the waist-high stems of springtime turu-grass, and Ahsoka began to speak.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ahsoka's Tale<strong>_:

"But the World was empty, so the Sun and Moons reached down and each made a form. The Moons shaped red clay into a figure, and decorated it with turu-grass to make it beautiful, and breathed moonlight into its mouth, and that figure became the first Woman. The Sun shaped red clay into a figure, and decorated it with turu-grass to make it beautiful, and breathed sunlight into its mouth, and that figure became the first Man. And when the Woman and the Man met, they saw that though they were different, they were also the same, and decided to remain together for otherwise they would be alone.

"But the World was still large, and Man and Woman were only two, so the Sun and the Moons gathered together and fashioned more figures out of clay and turu-grass. When they made a kob, they called it Kob, and when they made a thimiar, they called it Thimiar, and when they made an akul, they called it Akul, and soon the World was full.

"Akul was the largest of the creatures, and the strongest, and he was jealous of Man and Woman, who were the first made. So, one day, Akul used his size and strength and great teeth, and chased Man and Woman across the wild lands, until they cried out to the Sun and Moons to help them. Because the Sun and Moons did not want to see their firstborn killed, they reached down and pulled Man and Woman up into the heavens, where they shed their clay bodies and shone brightly and became the first stars. When Man and Woman had Children, some of them remained in the heavens with their parents, but others declared themselves unafraid of Akul, and returned to the World.

"The Children who returned were clever, and they used their minds to tame Fire, and their fingers to build Spear, and when Akul came to chase them the way he chased Man and Woman, he found the Children had teeth and were warriors, and were no longer afraid."

* * *

><p>Laying on the ground, Ahsoka breathed deeply and looked up through the striped lengths of the turu-grass around her. The tufted tips of the red and white stalks caught the wind and shivered, sending a wave of rustling across the plain. She lifted a faintly luminous hand and ran it through the grass, letting the stalks pass through the specter of her palm. She had visited many beautiful worlds as a Jedi, each with different beauties; the classic elegance of Naboo, the luminous danger of Felucia, the treacherous depths of Mon Cala, the glittering night of Coruscant. Shili's beauty was, perhaps, the simplest – canopied valleys with homes built into the roots of the great trees, lush savannahs rich with wildlife and claret-and-cream streaked turu-grass reaching for the skies. Two stars glittered extra bright, even among the moons in their many phases.<p>

"Do clones have any stories?" she asked Rex, lying beside her, his free hand tucked behind his head and serving as a pillow.

Rex's face was impassive, still. "No."

"None?"

"Nothing like that. We came out of decantation vats, not clay or stars."

Ahsoka almost laughed at the comparison, but as quickly as the amusement came, it faded. She barely remembered leaving Shili as a toddler; the Temple was her home, where she belonged, where she grew up. The Jedi were her brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles. But no matter where she was raised, she was Togruta, and would always be Togruta, and Shili would always be her home, and the Togruta would always be her people, no matter how distant she was from them, sometimes. She was made of red clay and stardust. Reaching up, she trailed a finger over the shape of the akul tooth headdress that framed her face. She was Togruta, and had proved herself a warrior and an adult the day she killed her first akul and breathed its strength into herself as it died at the end of her spear.

The clones were warriors, too. They worked together to defeat great enemies, just like the Togruta worked together for millennia to defeat mighty akul. It was wrong for them to have no stories, to have no history – or for what little history they had to be so…clinical. She squeezed his hand.

"No legends?" she tried again. "Not even of early clones?"

Rex opened his mouth to deny it again, but then paused, closing it and looking thoughtful for a moment. "I suppose there is one story," he admitted slowly. Seeing Ahsoka's hopeful smile, he took a breath and began to speak.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Rex's Tale<strong>_:

"Back before I was born, there was this group of clones. They didn't listen, didn't obey. They were wild, unpredictable, everything they weren't supposed to be, except maybe intelligent. The Kaminoans decided they were defective, that they should be reconditioned. One day, the Kaminoans went to claim them, to take them to the reconditioning center.

"But a man got in the way, one of the sergeants. He wasn't anyone special, not really, at least not any more than any of the rest of the Cuy'val Dar. It wasn't like Fett put himself in the middle of it all. But he stood up to the Kaminoans and said, "These are my boys, and these are my sons, and you can't take them." There weren't too many of us back then, but it was the first time any clone ever heard of anyone talking back to the Kaminoans, other than maybe Fett himself. And that sergeant, he was good as his word, and he raised those clones as his sons, just like any other children. And they were just as disobedient and willful and troublesome as the Kaminoans thought they'd be.

"But the little brothers of those men, the ones who weren't defective or willful or disobedient, wanted to be more like them. Those older brothers were independent, and freer than anyone else, and they were the first family there was in the GAR. They were the first brothers."

* * *

><p>They did have stories. Ahsoka lay still and looked at the stars. The clones had no culture of their own, outside of what they were given by the Kaminoans or borrowed from the Mandalorians, no origin, no history, but they still found stories to tell; of beginnings and bonds and brothers, of families that still formed, somehow, out of ranks of little boys and gruff old Mandalorian sergeants. Of clones who had what others did not: families and freedoms.<p>

"I'm sorry, Rex," she said.

When she turned her head to the side, she could see his profile softly glowing. He turned to face her, expression slightly puzzled.

"I never asked you. If you wanted to stay with me." The galaxy seemed so very large, suddenly. She would be so alone, without him. But she offered anyway, gave him the choice, even if it was belated. She kept her hand in his relaxed. "I could let go."

He closed his eyes, and she returned her gaze skyward. Man and Woman were luminous among their children, bright and visible just beyond the high flying cirrus and the lambent faces of the moons.

Rex asked, "Do you want me to stay?"

This could not last forever. The turu-grass rustled around them, tall fronds catching in the wind. Ahsoka closed her eyes, but could still feel the starlight on her ghost-face.

"Yes."

He smiled, and she opened her eyes to see it, and was happy not to be alone.

* * *

><p>I wrote this chapter out of order. It was actually the first thing I wrote, even before the prologue, and was one of the earliest ideas I had for this story (ghost!Ahsoka and ghost!Rex dancing in Padme's apartment being the first random image). Rex's tale should be familiar to anyone who's read Karen Traviss' <em>Republic Commando<em> novels. Ahsoka's tale is a mix of a few bits and pieces, predominantly inspired by general creation myth themes and a little bit of a Cheyenne legend I read not too long ago called _Quillworker_, as written by Terri Cohlene (it's an adorable children's book…highly recommended!).

Thimiar and akul are canonical species of Shili. A kob is a kind of antelope.

Music for this chapter is (again) _Adiemus_, by Adiemus (also known as Karl Jenkins).

~Queen


	12. A Fist to Crush Those Who Stand

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>Soldiers: don't give yourselves to brutes,<em>

_men who despise you and enslave you, who regiment your lives,_

_tell you what to do, what to think and what to feel,_

_who drill you, diet you, treat you as cattle, as cannon fodder._

_Don't give yourselves to these unnatural men,_

_machine men, with machine minds and machine hearts._

_You are not machines._

_You are not cattle._

_You are men._

_You have the love of humanity in your hearts."_

_-Charlie Chaplin, "The Great Dictator"_

* * *

><p>Chapter 11. A Fist to Crush Those Who Stand<p>

* * *

><p>He did not expect <em>pride<em> to be the emotion he felt upon seeing his brothers again.

It was a fierce feeling, deep seated and instantaneous at the sight of them, and it made him smile. The spirit lights that danced around people reflected their personalities and the differences, vibrantly. He and his brothers knew, of course, of their differences, of their individual flaws and strengths, interests and disinterests. The numbers that labeled them _were_ mere labels, strings of numbers that placed them in an order of birth and rank. The numbers determined _where_ they were born in the world, and their endlessly duplicated genes determined _what_ they were, but the strings of digits they were assigned upon removal from their gestation chambers did not determine _who_ they were. The names they chose for themselves and for each other hinted at that, suggested variations and personalities that went beyond numbers. The Kaminoans saw them as those strings of numbers, as digits to be placed on production lists to fill quotas.

Rex wished the Kaminoans could see what they had really created; the rank and file of three hundred brothers was an explosion of spirit-light, an incredible display of contrasting, dancing colors, that pinwheeled like a kaleidoscope as they marched into formation. It was the same kind of display he and Ahsoka saw on Kolchis, but there the people were naturally born, with no numbers dominating their destinies. If ever there was any doubt that men with the same face could possess differences and individualities, that doubt would be washed away upon seeing the display of color writ large across the hangar bay of the _Resolute_. Red and green, yellow and blue, purple and orange and every shade and variance of those colors was represented, fluctuating, swirling, or simply holding steady, depending on the man that stood within his own personal nimbus of light.

He heard Ahsoka laugh once, a delighted sound. She didn't look up at him when he looked down at her, but judging by the warm grin on her face and the way her eyes rushed across the formation of white-clad troopers, she was thinking something very similar to himself. He'd never thought of his brothers as pretty before, and really, why would he? But there was something distinctly beautiful about the individualities they were expressing simply by breathing. They were just like any other normal being, when looked at through the odd lens of death. They were the same in that they were all different.

They came to see the 501st, and to once again see the General. The darkness that clung to Skywalker was disturbing, and though the Senator seemed to bring him some measure of brightness, they were not together often enough for that to have much effect.

Ahsoka started tugging on his hand, walking forward, and he trailed a half step behind her as she approached the formation. No one had weapons in hand; some inspection must be about to begin, he determined. They all stood straight and still, buckets on and masking their faces into something blank and intimidating, the black slashes of their optical arrays almost seeming to absorb the colors that washed around them. They walked, slowly, noting the men that stood in the front of the lines. Some were new to the front, replacing brothers lost in the battles that he and Ahsoka had missed these past few weeks. They each peered down the rows to identify more men, to see who was there and who was not. Punch was there, and Chopper, Bolo and Jesse, Sketch and Tup and Jabs. Jester had been shuffled to the front of the line; not a bad move. Gus was standing right behind Chopper; potentially a bad move. Theoretically, positions shouldn't be affected by how well the men got along with each other off the field, but keeping those with a bit of animosity apart helped to smooth things at times. Slick's old platoon had been broken up in the aftermath of Christophsis, not due to any wrongdoing, but from an underlying brokenness that had surfaced after their sergeant was revealed as a spy and traitor. They'd lost the ability to trust each other, amid the revelation of Slick's actions and the accusations they'd leveled, mostly at Chopper, during the interrogation of the platoon.

But they were alive, where others were not. There were no gaps in the lines, but there were absences: Turner and Nox, Wire and Kassey, Dip and Breakout and Haze. As they reached the far end of the formation, the smile he wore upon seeing them all had faded. There was little he could do, now. Alive, he could have made a difference, maybe. Could have placed them differently, could have come up with a more clever pattern of attack, could have warned one of them before they walked into whatever kind of fire had killed them. In the end, though, it was the same situation as after any battle; there were always changes in the formation, new men to replace ones that were gone, and the feeling of helplessness that came with the knowledge that nothing really could have been done to change the outcome. If it wasn't Turner or Nox, Wire or Kassey, Dip or Breakout or Haze, it would have been others. The unlucky ones were only there for a single line up; added to the 501st one day and gone a day or two later.

He looked out over them, and felt the loss anew. Rex had seen many of his brothers die, had felt loss before, had seen his men mourn their brothers. Now, somehow, he was on the other side. He was the one dead, albeit not entirely gone, but the loss was still there. It helped to see them again, to know they were still moving forward, but it hurt too. "You've all done well," he said, his voice a low murmur.

"They have, haven't they?" Ahsoka agreed, still looking out over the assembly, smiling a little at the sight.

Pausing for a moment, Rex hesitated. It seemed silly; they couldn't hear him, but he wanted them to. He pitched his voice a little further, projecting it in clear, sharp tones across the landing bay. He straightened, lifted his head. "Not all of you have been with the 501st since the war began, and not all of you will be with the 501st when it ends." He wavered, the pointlessness of talking to his men from beyond the grave overtaking him again, until he heard a tapping on his arm. Ahsoka was patting it, a sympathetic smile on her face as she looked up at him. She did not seem to think the behavior strange as she met his gaze. After a moment, she turned back to the men, and Rex took a breath and continued. "But we've accomplished great things together. There are evils out there, and we're," he faltered, then recovered, correcting himself: "_you're _one of the last things standing between that darkness and what we're meant to protect. The Republic stands because of you. People are safe and able to live their lives because of you. I'm proud to call you my brothers." For a moment, he closed his eyes, committing the image of them all standing in formation, white armor embraced by vibrant colors, to memory. He finished, more quietly, "And I'm proud to call you my family."

Ahsoka was looking at him again, he knew, and her expression was undoubtedly curious. His words likely rang with too raw, too personal a tone. When he gave his report after the battle of Saleucami, he'd never told anyone of who the farmer that helped him really was. A brother with a family of his own, a family he protected. There was something appealing in that, in having a home that wasn't a battle cruiser, in having a wife and children. It was a good life, but it wasn't his life. He wasn't the oldest clone in the 501st, but as Captain, these men were his little brothers, and just as much his responsibility and family as the two little children Cut had adopted as his own.

It was a good life. A hard life, and often an unfair life, but a good life still. The _Resolute_ was home. His home.

The ache in his chest hurt, but there were no tears; only a continuation of that fierce pride.

A couple of shouts and the sound of men on the far end of the hangar bay hurrying distracted him, and together, Rex and Ahsoka turned their heads to see the _Twilight_ coasting down into the landing area, bypassing the force fields and turning smoothly around so that the hatch faced the assembly of soldiers. The _Twilight_ was the General's ship; the formation was for the General. Something big must be going on if the whole of Torrent Company was out on display.

The whine of the ship's engines deepened in pitch as the landing struts extended, and the outrigger lifted into place for docking. There was a slow sigh of air as the pressure changed, and the hatch opened with a heavy chuff, the boarding ramp extending slowly until it reached the ground. The shadows within moved for a moment, and then there was a figure silhouetted in the hatch.

For a moment, Rex thought he was looking at a ghost of himself. The man stood tall and straight, in the blue striped Phase II armor that matched his own so well, his helmet on and masking any of the little personal differences that Rex would normally use to differentiate between his brothers. With Skywalker stepping up beside him and pausing to have a brief word before disembarking, there was an eerie familiarity to the scene. Rather than being a part of it, though, he was stuck watching from the outside.

There were differences, of course. The armor markings were for a Commander, not a Captain. Though this brother wore a blue pauldron on his shoulder there was no kama slung around his hips nor was there a pair of raptor-like jaig eyes painted onto his helmet. He walked differently, with a rigidity in his shoulders that indicated either a sense of grim propriety or a tough tenseness to his personality. Most notable, though, was his ghost-light, flickering around him in sharp edges and angles, clear cut carmine lying cleanly against a frosty gold.

It was a far more colorful display than the chiaroscuro white-black of the General, but the pair matched in the hard corners and harsh facets that edged the borders of the luminosity embracing them.

This was his replacement.

He must have stiffened, or made some audible sound, because Ahsoka shifted her stance, stepping in tighter in a display of solidarity, even as her aurora shades swirled comfortingly around his blue-gold. He could see her darker hues in his peripherals, flickering over his without removing his eyes from the sight of the man who replaced him.

The 501st was his. Torrent Company was his. But not any longer.

He grimaced and turned away, only to be greeted by Ahsoka's worried countenance. Her white brows were drawn together, her forehead puckering in concern. She didn't ask if he was alright, but the question was clear enough without words. He looked away, wishing he could put his helmet back on. If he summoned it back to his head, Ahsoka would have an answer to her unspoken question, and it would be a negative one. He tightened his grip on her hand and nodded once, in an attempt to reassure her. She pursed her lips, frowning a little, but her stance eased slightly. "Do you want to leave?" she asked, gently.

Yes, he did. But what he said was: "No, not yet."

He needed to know who his successor was, falling into his place in front of Torrent Company and standing so straight and still. He needed to know that this Commander wouldn't just replace him, but would lead Torrent and the 501st, and lead them well. He wanted a name, and confirmation that the legacy of the 501st, the finest legion in the GAR, his legion, would be continued.

Once the two men reached their place standing before Torrent, Skywalker straightened and spoke. "The past few weeks have been hard on all of us. The GAR lost a good soldier. I lost a good Captain. You all lost a good brother." Skywalker's eyes swept across the ranks, and he seemed to take a steadying breath before he continued, tucking his hands behind his back formally and pitching his voice to be heard across the bay. "Captain Rex has been missed, and will continue to be." Skywalker's voice softened momentarily as he added, "You've all done well, in his absence." Then, his voice lifted and rose once again, as he turned slightly to one side and gestured towards the new man in Commander's stripes. "Commander Appo will be Captain Rex's successor. I know you'll serve under him with the same loyalty and skill that you did with Rex." The final words fell heavily into the air, with a firm finality. Skywalker caught Appo's eye, and Appo saluted him briskly before turning himself towards Torrent Company.

Appo seemed to pause, to take a moment to look out over the rank and file, looking as many men in the face as he could, in spite of distance and depth in the lines and the dark visors that met his gaze instead of friendly faces. The ghost-lights gave little sign of what the men were thinking, and Rex wondered if Ahsoka was able to perceive anything more. They idled, swirling slowly and without apprehension or excitement. This was to be expected; a brother dies and a brother is replaced, almost as though there was never any change at all.

Some dark little part of Rex's heart wished they wouldn't like Appo – that Appo wouldn't be the same caliber of commander as he was. But that was selfish, and hurtful. It was childish, even, his simply wanting to be liked more, to be _better_. The wiser part of him hoped Appo could do everything he could, and more; maybe Appo wouldn't be so careless as to be caught by a stray shot, maybe Appo would be a brilliant tactician capable of keeping more people alive than Rex could ever hope for. Maybe Appo would be strong enough and steady enough to counter some of Skywalker's more wild ideas, in the absence of a Padawan to care for and a Captain to give him a few practical words of advice. Kenobi wasn't always present to calm him. Appo would need to be more than an obedient soldier who was good at his job; the GAR was full of such men. He would need to be more, and Rex hoped he would be more, for the sake of the 501st.

"I can't be Captain Rex," Appo began, his words firm and strong as they were projected through his helmet's external speakers, sounding slightly mechanical as a result. "But I hope to continue on in his footsteps. I've read reports and watched vids of this legion in action, and I look forward to experiencing it for myself. The 501st is a legion to be feared. Under Rex you became the finest the GAR has to offer." His head tilted slightly to the side, quirking as though under his helmet he was smirking just slightly. The aura around him glittered, hard and cold and polished. "I hope that with me, you will become a fist to crush those who stand against us."

There was something in the words that pricked uncomfortably in the back of Rex's mind. Defeating the Separatists meant the preservation of the Republic. The hyperbolic image of "crushing" enemies was not unusual, and brothers used such turns of phrase as often as politicians in newsreels did. But there was something about the way Appo spoke, as though placing fear into enemies and crushing them to nothingness was the point of the war, rather than the defense of what was right. Was that all he wanted for these men? For them to be a weapon? A fist?

"Rex?" Ahsoka's voice was soft, worried. "Rex?"

She was looking up at him, blue eyes full of concern. Appo seemed like a blank spot, all armor and helmet with no quirks beyond his pauldron to proclaim him _Appo_ instead of any other clone commander. No kama, no jaig eyes. Skywalker was watching the formation lined up before him with a cool stare.

Ahsoka was worried most for Skywalker, and the blackness that clung steadfastly to his ghost-light. Rex found himself now worrying more for his men.

There was nothing he could do; nothing but watch, and hope, and try to learn to speak.

"Let's go back to Shili," he said. They'd come back, and soon, but right now, he wanted some of the strength that world offered, and to hear the ghosts in the grass whispering to each other in the wind.

Rex tightened his grip on Ahsoka's hand, and looked out across Torrent Company one more time, and let his pride in them wash away his worry. They were the best, and would always be the best, and he had helped in making them that way. They were strong.

And then with a flicker and a fading, they were gone, and the savannah sprawled in all directions as far as he could see.

* * *

><p>This is where there's probably going to be a quirk with canon. During the Umbara episodes, Appo was revealed to be a sergeant in the 501st at that point. How he got launched up to the rank of Commander I don't know, but I'd already had this scene planned and drafted when Umbara was first aired, so it's staying as-is. Maybe Appo got some majorly special training, and since he had previous 501st experience, he got sent back? Who knows? (I mean, they made <em>Jar Jar<em> a _general_ in _Phantom Menace_, so I guess a sergeant can turn into a Commander in like a year?)

Obviously, the references to the 501st becoming a fist to crush their enemies is a reference to the legion's eventual nickname, "Vader's Fist".

~Queen


	13. For All the Times After

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>If an injury has to be done to a man, it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared."<em>

_-Niccolo Machiavelli_

* * *

><p>Chapter 12. For All the Times After<p>

* * *

><p>To enter the gym was to breathe in the stink of fresh sweat.<p>

Though not quite rank, it was still overpowering, pervasive and permeating. The air tasted of salt on skin, hot from the pack of bodies huddling around one corner of the long room, buzzing around a little corner with thick padded mats and a thin rope cordoning it off and marking it as a more special area than the open spaces. A few men in those open spaces lifted weights or pushed themselves up from the ground, again and again, perspiration dampening their soft grey clothes near to black, but their quiet grunts were subsumed by the furor in the corner around the ring. Deep voices thrummed, rising and falling in the alternating dips and peaks of cheers and jeers, of sharp whistles and shouted encouragement or curses, depending upon which contender was being addressed and by whom.

The recycled air of the ship was crisp and dry, and it was sucked harshly into the mouths of the fighters even as it was expelled a moment later to be reclaimed and converted to oxygen again. Feet thumped against the floor, a dull constant clamor by the boot-wearing audience, opposed by periodic, soft thwacks from the bare feet of the two men in the ring, their heels striking into the soft mats. Harsh white fluorescent light glared down at the assembly below, austere and stark, casting a mild mass of shadows beneath the bodies of the men.

A trickle of sweat crested Chopper's head, gathering size and strength as it rolled down his forehead, following the ridged riverbed created by one of his scars. It clung to the end of the cicatrix for a moment, and as he ducked and weaved, it rolled further, down into the raw space hashed across his cheek and stinging. It wasn't a bad scrape, but the salt in the sweat stung. Another sharp movement, another quick evasion, and the droplet was cast off, flying out with several others, into the air.

A fist was coming at him again, and he swiveled to get out of the way, but not fast enough. He blocked, forearm getting between his face and the lightly padded knuckles that were flying at his head. Locked in place for a moment, the dampness of Gus's own sweat was visible, caught up in the dark hairs of his neatly trimmed little goatee and trickling down across his eyebrows. The moment passed, and they moved again, a punch from Chopper interrupted by a block from Gus, and they reared back momentarily before clashing together again, grappling and vying for dominance in the bout. A round of fresh cheers rose up around them as Gus got a grip on Chopper's arm and twisted, up and back.

Chopper grunted and went down, lashing out at Gus's shin and connecting hard enough to loosen his hold; it was enough, and Chopper rolled out of the way as the sweat beading down his arm helped make him too slick to catch. He was on his feet again, crouched low, breathing hard as Gus wiped a smear of red blood off his lip that had blossomed from a hit Chopper landed earlier; already there was swelling across his chin and the promise of a bruise.

Chopper's voice joined the shouting of others as he launched himself forward, the encouraging screams of his brothers at his back though few were for him. Gus braced himself in time for the impact of Chopper's half-mad rush, toes digging into the slightly loose surface of the mat and gripping. Chopper's eyes were getting wild, and he was starting to scream in the near crazed way he did when too caught up in a charge on the field. Too close to out of control, too close to out of his head with anger. There were plenty of brothers who had seen too much of the clankers and reveled in destroying them, but few skirted the edge of berserk with the ferocity of Chopper. Out of his head. Delinquent. _Deficient_. Brothers that broken put everyone else at risk, too caught up in their own fury at machines that didn't care.

Gus didn't see the sharp blow that crashed into his stomach. Were he in armor, it would have had little impact, but he was in his soft greys, and in too much need of oxygen this far into the match to pay much attention to bracing his abdomen for a hard punch. Soft with gasps of air, his belly collapsed in around Chopper's elbow, and he shuddered forward a few inches. He managed to ward off a second blow, one that would have dropped his face first into the mat by driving the blade of a hand into the crux of his shoulder and neck, but the movement tilted him, and it took only a rough shove to spin him off balance. He hit the mat with a blunt smack and wheeze, as his lungs struggled to pull more air into them. A set of disappointed moans filled the air, accompanied by several shouts of encouragement. Winded from the shot to his stomach and dizzy from being spun around, Gus coughed in reply.

Dropping down to his knees, Chopper reared back, fist raised and only distantly aware Tup and Jesse were shoving men aside and moving to jump the rope around the ring and intervene. He'd be blamed, if Gus was hurt too badly; he was deficient, after all, a crazy violent _shabuir_ who kept screaming every time he fought and no one either cared or could tell if the screaming was from joy of destruction or from pain or perhaps from both. _Deficient_. Gus thought that too. Gus thought he was deficient, said so to his face. Not many had the guts for that, anyway. Gus did have guts. He'd seen that often enough. They'd been friends, back when everything started and before half of Chopper's face got blown off. Half of Gus's face was scraped up now, from the fight and from the rough landing; Chopper did that, even though Gus wasn't a tinny and he bled red blood not black oil.

He hesitated.

The whistle cut through his thoughts. Pitched loud, it sliced through the air and brought the shouting, yelling, jostling men to a screeching halt.

Chopper gulped air, not unlike Gus did on the mat. His fist was trembling and his biceps twitched with tension. Gus was looking up at him through two completely brown eyes, like Chopper's used to be before one got damaged and he spent too much time in bacta and it discolored. Gus wasn't afraid; he was gasping in air slowly though gritted teeth, body tensed and still ready for impact, in spite of the whistle of warning.

Looking away from Gus revealed Tup and Jesse standing in the ring, but frozen in place and turned half-back to see the new Commander, Appo, standing near the back of the silent crowd in full armor, his helmet tucked under an arm. His lower lip eased out from his top teeth after the whistle, and his eyes swept over the bloody scene. It was meant to be practice. Men got carried away sometimes, but it was meant to be practice. A man down and another poised to knock him out was more than carried away, it was too far. Not just bad etiquette, it was disrespectful. Dishonorable. Even if you had a problem with one of your brothers, you didn't beat him to a pulp when he was down. He might be the man to save your life a few hours later.

Chopper braced himself for a reprimand, but the words that came were anything but castigation.

"Finish it."

There were no murmurs of surprise, but there was a startled wheeze from Gus, twisted around enough to see Appo standing in a clearing between the grey-clad men. Chopper did not move, though his hand remained clenched and half raised.

The order came again, sharper this time. "Finish it!"

There was confusion on Gus's face, when Chopper looked down at him again. The confusion slowly morphed into expectation, his eyes hardening and jaw tightening for the blow. He waited.

Chopper waited too. Something cold seemed to be pouring down over his head and over his shoulders, causing his skin to prickle. He breathed in the dry air and looked at Appo as he lowered his fist to his side. Tup and Jesse relaxed infinitesimally, their attention swinging back to Appo.

"Do you think your enemies are going to give you any mercy?" Appo asked, voice low and hard. Then he raised it, addressing more than just Chopper. "Do you think the _droids_ will give you any mercy?"

No one answered. The silence stretched, and Appo stood still in the center of the space cleared around him. He turned slightly, looking at the men around him. "Show mercy on an enemy and they'll get back up to strike you back down. Finish it the first time. Win the fight for all the times that would have to come after. Or else you'll constantly watch your back." He turned back to Chopper, and to Gus, and to Tup and Jesse standing on the fringe of the fight so uncertainly. "Finish it!" he commanded, and Chopper looked down at Gus, still bracing himself for a blow.

Delinquent. _Deficient_. Chopper was many things, but there was one thing he was not. He scowled, and Gus met his eyes, but it was Chopper who broke the stare when he stood and glared at Appo instead. He was broken, and a troublemaker, and deficient, so it didn't matter if he was insubordinate. The Captain gave him a kind word when he could, and the little Commander did too. Their kindness was a luxury. Those days were gone now. No reason to hold back, to try to get along, smooth things over. Not anymore.

He spat, and the spittle was tinged pink from blood. "I'm not a clanker."

If the frakking droids could show no mercy, then it was all the more reason for him to.

This time, a murmur rippled through the crowd. Chopper spat again, a slightly cleaner globule landing on the mat. Insubordination. He'd probably be in the brig within the hour. He limped a couple steps forward, past Tup who was gaping, past Jesse who was wide-eyed, then forced himself to straighten as he ducked under the rope and walked forward, stride stiff.

Show no mercy? Let brothers suffer, as some insane excuse to save them? He'd seen that mentality before.

Appo glared at him, and Chopper glared back, his walk starting to grow uneven again. Gus got him good early on, and his knee was starting to throb now that the adrenaline was starting to slow. He drew up even with Appo and stopped, turning his head to the side to see Appo's scowling profile.

"You remind me of an officer I served under once." He looked away, back towards the doors of the gymnasium where two other armored and suited brothers were standing. He limped forward again. "I don't mean Rex."

If Appo reacted to the sudden swirl of gasps, Chopper didn't see it. He kept walking, as straight as he could, for the doors. His knee almost buckled and he had to pause for a moment while he regained his balance. Then he began again, and this time, the two soldiers by the door were turning and walking towards him, arms outstretched.

To the brig, then. He was no clanker.

As gauntleted hands grasped his shoulders, he started to laugh.

* * *

><p>Ahsoka closed her eyes for a moment and lowered her head. It wasn't right. None of it was right. Chopper mouthing off to a superior officer wasn't out of character – he was never afraid to stick up for himself, even if it sometimes got him in trouble – but Appo's words were chilling. He was right, in a way – if a fight could only be fought once, then it was best fought once. But at the expense of becoming more like what they fought against? It wasn't right. None of it was right.<p>

Rex was looking over the gym with a grim expression, the colors of his aura whirring languidly, almost apathetically. There was a _twitchiness_ to the men remaining in the room, an _uncertainty_ that clouded around them and dulled their auras, even as they listened to Appo begin explaining that insubordination _would not be tolerated_, and that _it was their duty to finish what they start, _not follow some vague set of personal ideals over orders. They were soldiers, clones. It wasn't their place to question, to wonder, to doubt. They were there to _win_. And now they had a new job to do. Suit up and move out. They would be arriving at their destination in an hour. Mission prep would be in twenty minutes.

The men moved out of the gym with the brisk ease of practice, but the _uneasiness_ did not abate even with a purpose laid out fresh before them.

Ahsoka watched them walk past her with sadness. There was still nothing she and Rex could do, but watch and worry. They could not speak, could not be seen, and had no power to influence anything. Any trials they conducted ended in failure; there had to be a way. Either that, or just let themselves fade away into the Force and let the living deal with the future.

The more they saw their friends, though, the more they wanted to stay. Master Skywalker worried her, and the 501st worried Rex. He still looked grim. She squeezed his hand reassuringly, rested her other hand on his shoulder in hope of conveying some comfort. When he turned his head away from her, instead of trying to reassure her somehow, she stepped forward and slipped around him, ready to draw him into another hug if he so needed it. Even standing to close to him, he did not respond to her.

"Do you want to go back to Shili?" she asked, bending slightly so that she could try to peer into his face. Her free hand lifted, hesitated, then reached out and lightly settled itself on his cheek, urging him to look at her. He grimaced for a moment, then sighed and lifted his head to face her, and she let her fingers fall away.

"We can't keep running to Shili every time we see something upsetting," he replied flatly, as the last stragglers of the men moved past them and left the gym empty. The only sound now was the silence and the white noise of the hyperspace engines halfway across the ship.

Ahsoka hung her head. "I don't know what else to do."

"I don't either, kid."

A few weeks ago, she'd have tried to tell him they could practice speaking more, practice being seen, or at least try to be more like a couple of poltergeists, moving things around a bit and getting attention through playing tricks. But they spent time doing that, all to no avail. It was pointless, doing things over and over that they'd already proven didn't work. The two steps forward that they'd taken – transportation and image alteration – came when they were not trying, not thinking, and acting more on instinct. If that was the route to being better ghosts, then they could only accumulate knowledge through experience.

She asked, "Do you want to go down to the planet with them? For the battle?"

Rex stayed silent, not looking at her. He felt _heavy_, weighted with _helplessness_ again. Going to watch the battle like a pair of spectators only made things worse. War wasn't a holovid. Watching only reinforced their inability to influence events. "We could go to the bridge and watch from there. We haven't spent any time with Admiral Yularen yet."

It was a compromise, of a sort. They could stay, they could watch, but they'd be watching with others who were off the field as well. Or at least as far as being on the bridge meant being off the field. They'd still be in the thick of things, just not on the ground amid the death and the dirt and the ordinance.

Rex sighed, heavily, and she knew he didn't really want that either. Another kind of helplessness settled around her shoulders, and she wished she knew how to cheer Rex up.

"Come on." She tugged on his hand. If he didn't want to always run back to Shili, then they should stay, at least on the bridge with the crew and Admiral Yularen. "Let's go to the bridge."

The decision taken from his hands, Rex straightened, nodded, and followed Ahsoka wordlessly as she began to walk.


	14. Equivalent Exchange

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return."<em>

_-Alphonse Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist_

* * *

><p>Chapter 12. Equivalent Exchange<p>

* * *

><p>And there were other days, and other battles, and they did not always watch from far away.<p>

* * *

><p><em><strong>Chopper and Gus<strong>_:

He squatted down, scuffed white boots sinking into the moist mud. Fingers were so delicate. He flexed his own and watched them move, curl in, stretch out straight, wiggle up and down and a little bit from side to side, their motions smooth and slow within their gauntlets. His thumbs, opposable, stuck out a bit differently, lower and thicker than the other sets of four. B1 droids only had three wide, flat fingers, a poor mockery of a human hand. B2's had three as well, but half hidden under the little dual laser cannons that made up their wrists instead of bone and sinew. B3's only had two, one giant mitten-like section that replaced the four main digits, and a spindly protrusion that mimicked a thumb. Some of the clankers only had weapons for hands, blaster cannons for fingers. They could not touch, could not feel, did not know what it was to pick up a blaster, because it was built in, nor did they know what it was to pick up a dead brother and carry him off the field or what it was to pick up a fork and eat dinner or a set of weights to exercise or a reg manual to read. Those were functions for humans, for living beings, which they were not.

The metal digits made heavy jewelry. It wasn't wearable. Too heavy, too bulky, too forbidden, too much the sign of a broken brain. They jangle-jingled like heavy keys on a ring, dull digits drumming together with little clanks and clatters.

He reached out and picked up the arm of a B1 by the wrist, almost delicately. The servos made a drooping whine, then stuck halfway to fully bent. The usual beige was off color, splattered in a wild polka dot pattern of black oil and browned blood and dirt. There were a few bits chipped off on the edges; they'd be sharp enough to cut, if held at the right angle. It was a nice piece. It'd make a nice charm on a bracelet. So far, he'd seen one brother, still alive, with one arm. He'd seen two who'd been torn apart so badly in the same blast he wasn't sure how much was missing, beside their lives.

Droids took clone parts, he took droid parts. Equivalent exchange.

A shuffle alerted him to a new presence. He didn't look up, even after the pair of dirty white boots stopped and did not leave after his continued silence. Another moment passed, and the owner of the boots squatted down in the mud as well, placing his elbows on his knees and bending his head.

The two men kept their silence several long seconds. Gus picked up a loose lug nut from where it was crushed into the mud and flicked a bit of dirt off it before rolling it between his fingers and clutching it in his fist. Chopper ran a thumb up the metal palm of the B1, splaying the hand outward.

"You're not a droid." Gus tossed the nut aside, idly. It pinged off the foot of another droid, a B2. The B2 was cut in half, the edges melted from where a lightsaber ran it through. Gus looked at Chopper, still holding the hand of the B1. "Droid parts aren't the only thing you can take off the field."

Chopper glanced up. Gus was speaking over a private channel, his voice casual. The black visor of his helmet was tilted down, looking at the mud. He picked up another bit of metal, some sort of grayish chip with knobs on it. The edges were charred. Part of a motherboard, probably. A delicate piece. A bit of droid brain. He frowned a little. It was weird seeing Gus handling droid parts. Gus, though, tossed that piece again after another moment. It didn't go very far, and plopped down into a puddle of machine oil.

"What else is there? Bodies of brothers?"

Gus shrugged. "Medics haven't covered the whole of the western quadrant." He tilted his head towards the right a little, indicating the direction the battle had taken, and the bodies still strewn across the ground. Clone medics were picking their way through the field. "Seems to me, keeping one more of us alive is better than a ring of droid fingers."

The B1 fingers, however much they were gruesomely patterned, were only fingers. Bits of metal and badges of brokenness. They were worth very little, compared to a brother's life, even if that brother's life wasn't worth much either.

But then, a droid was worth less than a brother. At least to Chopper. How much was a brother worth in droids? Two? Ten? Twenty? Their lives weren't worth much, except maybe to each other.

He dropped the wrist of the B1, tossing it a little. It hit the mud with a flat smack.

"Guess so," Chopper said.

They squatted in the mud several more seconds. Gus stood first, a little haltingly, as though he'd been bruised somewhere during the battle and his body ached enough to slow him. He stretched out a hand, offering it.

There was mud and drying blood encrusting it and spattering the gauntlet, but it moved in the same way Chopper's did, since it was essentially the same hand.

He reached out and took it, and Gus pulled him to his feet.

* * *

><p>They stood nearby and listened in, surrounded by luminous forms detaching themselves from dying bodies to ascend towards the sky before dissipating into the air.<p>

"Chopper seems a little more…steady?" Ahsoka suggested, observing him and Gus. Rex watched them thoughtfully for a moment, then nodded once. Gus was a solid man with a sharp eye and sharp wit, with little tolerance for those who didn't share similar qualities. The two of them had been at odds before the incident with Slick, but the revelation of how deep Chopper's battle stresses were came to light in the form of droid finger necklaces only worsened the situation.

Gus taking Chopper as an ally would have been unexpected a week or so ago, before the day in the gym. Now though, something had shifted. Perhaps for the better, for both of them.

The vapid, almost sickly yellow-lined grey that whirled around Chopper a moment ago had strengthened somewhat, and the leaden look to the grey had softened into something not quite the color of sun-touched steel. It was a strange contrast to the steady earth colors that encircled Gus, all moss green and wood brown.

"Chopper," Gus said, and the two of them focused their attention on the other pair again, now picking their way through the casualties of both men and droids. "For the other day. Thanks for that."

Chopper stopped, even though Gus continued on, and watched his back. Then he said, "I've been in the brig before. I can sleep better without all the snoring." He started walking again.

Gus snickered.

Ahsoka smiled, and Rex closed his eyes and hung his head for a moment, sighing. When he looked up again, there was an upward quirk to his lips.

The cheer did not last long, as Appo entered their view, moving quickly across the field. Rex tightened his hand around Ahsoka's, and began to follow.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Appo and Anakin<strong>_:

The day was still grey, and there was no end to it in sight.

Above, the sky was an expanse of smooth, iron colored clouds, extending in all directions as far as the eye could see. Off to the west, if he made use of his macrobinoculars, he could see the ledge of it coasting the peaks of distant mountains. To the east, though, the clouds seemed to fall from the sky, a curtain wall of rainfall. The air was damp, chill. The ground was a sea of mud, and he tramped through it while it sucked at his feet, boots squishing through the muck. Appo ignored the blood, viscera and oil mixed into it; he'd seen it before, and it was always a gruesome mixture. Better not to think too hard on it, or else he'd vomit the way he did when he was a shiny and he experienced it for the first time.

He moved past the hulking, broken forms of battle droids. Bodies of men were already removed from this area, fortunately, but the wastes were covered in the remains of battle. Broken blasters littered the ground, spindly black trees curled into the air like fine long spider legs. Some mist was starting to rise from the ground, casting the site into a gloom. The air was warming; it must be midday, though with the blanket of grey clouds it was impossible to tell.

For all their gruesomeness, these things followed a pattern. Once the fight was over, it felt silent, still, even though there was the activity of _after_, of cleaning up, of triage, sometimes of moving refugees. This time, the broad plain was empty of civilians, and the troopers moved with their usual cold efficiency through the aftermath. The next phase in the pattern was the report. Everything else was underway.

The General stood near the crest of a copse, and many of the trees beyond him had been charred from ordinance. They still smoldered, releasing thin trails of smoke into the air. The General did not turn towards him as he approached, and instead seemed content to look out over the field of battle with an unreadable look in his eyes.

Appo waited a moment, after reaching his side, for the General to acknowledge him. Just as he was about to say, "_Sir?_" when the General asked, somewhat distantly, "Was it worth it, Appo?"

He didn't understand, not for a moment. The clue was in the General's gaze, out over the battlefield.

The world beyond them was a smoking ruin full of destruction. It had to be worth it. The death, the sacrifice, it had to be. If it wasn't, the alternative was that their lives were wasted on nothing. A clone had little enough to live for as it was; to think their shared sacrifice was not worth anything took the little value they had and threw it away like so much rubbish. How many died that day? But how much more had they purchased with their effort and their lives? How many more lived because they died? How much longer would the Republic live because of their sacrifice?

There was only one answer to such a question, and he said it with all the conviction of a man with no other options. "Of course, sir."

Appo stood his ground, firm and solid in his certainty. His back was straight, his chin lifted, his hands filled with his blaster.

General Skywalker turned to look at him, slowly. He did not flinch, but he was glad of his helmet, because he sucked in a breath through his teeth in a strange backward hiss, and his eyes had flicked the sound off simultaneously. No wayward sound of air escaped the privacy of his bucket. The General's eyes were dark when they turned towards him, disturbing in their hard intensity. The visor was opaque, and no one could see in, but in that moment it seemed the General could, that he could see past any dissembling. Appo stood firm in the truth of it. They did what must be done, to win. The cost could never be too high. This fight prevented a dozen others.

The disturbing intensity on the General's face eased slightly, and his brows relaxed from where they were pressed together so intently. The thin line of his mouth softened, though he did not smile.

With a single nod in recognition, the General turned back to the remains of the carnage. "Tell me," he said, "your report, Commander."

As ordered, Appo began to speak.

* * *

><p>"Is it worth it?" Ahsoka asked softly, in part to herself, in part to the quietly speaking forms of Anakin and Appo.<p>

It was Rex, though, who answered her, looking at the waste. "I don't know."

* * *

><p>The greyness of the day provided many shallow shadows. None were deep in the dark but they dwelled everywhere some small shade took up residence. The copse of trees, with their charred, curling limbs, provided a hash of thin shadows. Had either of them looked past the two men before them, or away from the devastation beyond them, they would, perhaps, have seen the tall figure standing unbroken amid the trees, small red eyes gleaming in his accompanying shadows.<p>

Had either of them looked at the copse of smoldering trees, perhaps they would have seen the low, wry smirk of the Son's mouth as he watched them, just before growing strangely diaphanous. His body seemed to curl up and shrivel away on the same tendrils of soft grey smoke that the trees were still seeping, and a slow wind caught him in its clutches and dispersed him across the field.

* * *

><p>Gus either doesn't seem to be around much, or he gets a really raw deal. I've decided to give him a chance to be something a little better. And who doesn't love Chopper? Also, a little more on Appo's way of thinking...<p>

~Queen


	15. The Festival of Ghosts: Part 1

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>We all have a star in our heart.<em>

_Darkness and light are always right next to each other._

_Show a little fear or a drop of a tear and the darkness will grow and start to attack..._

_Consuming the light..."_

_- Bishojo Senshi Sailor Moon manga_

* * *

><p>Chapter 14. The Festival of Ghosts: Part 1<p>

* * *

><p>There was a shriek, quickly followed by laughter.<p>

Two people ran by, a young man pursuing a young woman, both grinning wildly as they raced for the turu-grass. They pelted into the grass line, and the man caught the woman, sending them both tumbling down. There was some thrashing, and the seed tufted fronds of grass rustled enthusiastically as another shriek of laughter went up along with some flailing limbs. A second later, the woman was up and racing through the grass again, her striped lekku streaming backward, two from under her shoulders. Her companion was hot on her heels, laughing, his arms outstretched and hands grasping for the evasive lekku dancing around before him. They did not see the pair standing not far away, hand in hand and with wide eyes. Even if they had seen the two softly lambent figures, they would have cared very little for any observation, as preoccupied with each other as they were. They ran deeper into the turu-grass and the night, seeking dark and privacy and the quiet of fields to fill with their own voices.

Rex looked down at her, and Ahsoka glanced up. He looked utterly mystified. "Is that normal?"

Ahsoka's face contracted, and she giggled. "I think so. It's considered lucky, if I remember right."

He gave her an odd look, then turned back towards the direction the couple had gone. Another peal of laughter rose up, but it was quickly muffled. The faint sound of a moan replaced it, and then silence save for the sound of running feet and rustling turu-grass. "Lucky?"

She laughed again, and pulled his hand, starting them walking forward again. They passed through the fronds of the grass, and she let her free left hand trail across the seed pods on the tips of the grass blades. They were soft, but bristly, and they tickled her fingers with their texture. If she pretended just a little, she could imagine it was her touch setting them to movement rather than the soft evening breeze, loosening the seeds and scattering them. With another chuckle, she answered, "Ullambana is the time when the realms of the living and the dead are closest together. It's a powerful time. Children are supposed to be more likely to be Force-sensitive if they're, um," Ahsoka made a face and her lekku darkened a bit in embarrassment over the topic, "conceived, during the Ullambana season."

She couldn't quite read Rex's face at that particular moment, and it made her want to giggle again, despite her slight embarrassment over explaining the custom to Rex, of all people. He was sort of squinting at her, eyes narrowed a bit and brows drawn together in puzzlement, as though he didn't quite believe that she was telling the truth, in spite of the evidence that just ran past them, not entirely clothed. "Does it work?" he asked, skeptical.

Ahsoka ducked her head, trying not to laugh. "Well, my life day _is_ about eight months from now."

He blinked at her, and his aura swirled around him in lackadaisical confoundment, as though he was giving this a great deal of serious thought. His brow wrinkled, and she laughed again, looking away. Rex made the funniest faces sometimes, and the best ones were usually when he didn't mean to. It was surprisingly easy to tease him. Fun, too. The thought made her smile.

It felt good, though, to be on Shili again. There was a peace here, as well as a sense of strength. She breathed in deeply, letting the crisp air of a moon-filled night into the memory of her lungs before releasing it again from her lips. They made steady progress through the scrub, Ahsoka leading just slightly while Rex pondered the idiosyncrasies of old Togruta customs. The village drew closer as they walked. It felt good, to walk, to use her feet; it felt normal, made her feel alive again. She could feel the ground beneath her as much as she could feel the tips of the turu-grass under her grazing hand. The light of the village was bright enough that it reflected up into the sky, washing the low hanging clouds in creamy yellow light from below, even as they were lit lavender from above by the nearest moon, peeping out from a bank of wispy cirrus. Stars could be seen beyond the thin clouds, clear and bright against the black sky.

Lit from within, the village seemed to gleam invitingly. The massive branches of the great bao trees were cast into deep shadows from the dazzling array of lanterns on Togruta eye-level. It was a warm, many colored, inviting sight. The closer they drew, the easier it was to pick out figures moving between the trunks of the giant trees, their shadows trailing after them; long, narrow shades against the brightness.

As they approached, another, somewhat calmer couple emerged from the edge of the village's circle of light and trees, their arms wrapped around each other. The woman's head was leaning against her partner's shoulder, and as they walked, one of his lekku slid closer, around the nearest one of hers until they were twined; the chevrons checking each headtail gave the illusion they were braided together, the tips of each twitching towards the other, playful. He leaned down, gave her a brief, firm kiss, and she laughed and snuggled a bit closer, their pace picking up slightly as they moved out towards the turu-grass as well.

Ahsoka almost missed a step, watching them. Their colors wrapped around each other so contentedly, peacefully, rust red swirling with cheery yellow against a steady navy streaked with soft ivory. They meshed and rolled together, most intense where they touched, almost integrating to make a new palette of colors. They radiated _contentment_, but not without a strong undercurrent of _heatedness_. The other couple was too funny to watch, too distracting for her to pay any attention to such details. They were merely an explosion of motley colors, franticness and _need_, all rushing together and racing for the privacy of the tall grass.

She couldn't pause in their walk towards the village, and so she kept an even stride to match Rex's, casting a brief glance down to where they clasped each other's hand, just as they drew even and then bypassed the second couple. It wasn't the same, holding his hand, but it was reminiscent. They did not lean on each other, not physically, though after their deaths it had become as necessary as breathing once had been. There was no _heatedness _between them, but there was a certain _contentment_ they shared, and that _contentment_ was sweet and warm.

Ahsoka did not think often on her parents, but at this moment, she could not help but wonder: Were they like one of those couples, seventeen years ago? Did they run? Did they walk with their lekku twined? Or did they walk hand in hand, when they went out to the turu-grass? Was that companionable contentment what it was like to have a lover? Or was it the heatedness and the frantic need?

As they reached the outer perimeter of the village, she smiled a little, shyly, her blue eyes glancing at her companion through dark lashes. And then they were within the sea of lantern light.

The village itself, set into a grove of the giant bao trees, would perhaps seem a bit primitive at first glance. It was a simple looking place; the roots of the trees matched the size of the trunks and branches, and many of them rose up out of the dense soil to arch upward and form the spines of rooftops. Heavy, brightly colored canvas tarps swathed the bases of trees, skirting them so that the yurts were built directly into the wood. To a casual eye, it all seemed very traditional, but here and there could be seen small generators, affixed to the sides of the lattice-frames, most no bigger than a pair of fists. If she listened, she could hear them hum in their high pitched way, cheerily powering the shelters. Some were even painted as to match the colored canvases, checkered so that they matched the geometric, abstract designs woven into the canvas that covered each structure. Any perception of primitiveness was deliberate, a veil over the incorporation of modernity. If the presence of the generators was not enough, the thousand little lights floating above them would put any accusation of technological lacking to rest.

The sky lanterns were beautiful.

Many were affixed to lower hanging trees, but the great majority hovered in the air, powered by minuscule repulsors, and from what Ahsoka could see, no two were alike. Many were made of crimson paper, round and red with brightly colored ribbons or tassels trailing; others were bell shaped, waxy yellow, lit up from within and looking like little golden suns just cresting a horizon. Some were decorated in rhinestones in every color, and they glittered like globe-shaped rainbows as they buzzed quietly, slowly, overhead, forming a flowing river of lamplight. Some were large, others small. All floated through the air like ghosts, climbing to different heights, up into the tree branches high above before descending down again to dance among other lanterns before again rising upward. The more they moved, the more the shadows of the arching tree branches seemed to waltz and weave in accompaniment, providing a spectral, spidery counterpoint to the bright dance of the lanterns.

She felt his _awe_ wash over her, even as his spirit-light did. Rex's head was tilted back, his mouth slightly open and the corners quirked up just a little while his brown eyes reflected near to gold from the lantern light. "This is just the edge of the village," she told him, after giving him another moment to drink in the sight. Then she tugged on his hand and they pressed in further.

The deeper into the village they moved, the denser the number of yurts became. Many of them were free-standing, apart from the trees themselves. People were moving between the large, circular tents, dressed in good clothes and hand woven, beaded jewelry, all following the path the lanterns lit, further in and closer towards the center of the village. They moved in little groups, in chattering pairs or families with toddlers or knots of cocky adolescents, except for where, here and there, younger children would run screaming past.

One did so now. A little boy in a mask shaped like a snarling akul went shrieking through them, waving his arms and leaping as he ran. It was always a little strange, when they walked through people, or other people walked through them, but it'd happened enough times now that they were growing accustomed to it. It was more likely the unexpected sensation of having dozens of dried beans flying through herself that drew her up short, and Rex with her. A gaggle of other children were pelting the mask-wearer with handfuls of red beans, which they were pulling out of little bags and mixing their laughter with cries of, "_Run, Akul_!" The boy himself seemed to be basking in the attention, ignoring the beans hitting him so he could blow a raspberry at the others, then turn around, bend halfway, waggle his butt at them, then run off shrieking again, the rest of the crowd in hot pursuit, several darting through Rex and Ahsoka as they gave chase.

"Is that supposed to be lucky, too?" Rex asked dryly, staring after the screaming younglings, now darting into one of the alleys created by the yurts. The mild laughter of nearby adults replaced the pitched shouts of the children.

Ahsoka laughed as well. "They're chasing away the akul, so yes."

"With beans?"

"With beans."

Rex looked thoughtful for a moment, then asked, "Did you ever do that?"

She shook her head, lekku swaying at the movement. "Master Ti would hold an Ullambana gathering for Togruta Jedi, when she was in the Temple during the season, but it was pretty quiet, compared to what's supposed to happen at real festivals like this." Ahsoka smiled a little in memory. Every year was a little different, since the number of Togruta Jedi would come and go. Some years were skipped because Master Ti was away, but when she was present, any Togruta in the Temple would be invited into an assembly room. There would be lanterns sitting on tables, and a cluster of candles to represent the Ullambana fire, and pastries made out of sweet beans and bao nuts, and roasted thimiar steaks that always gave her a bellyache. It didn't match everything she read about in holobooks, when she studied her own culture, but it gave her a taste, a touch of what it was to be from Shili. The younglings were always present, when the gathering was held, since they were always at the Temple. They would play Akul, chasing each other around and tagging each other, but no beans were ever involved. It looked like fun, and as her gaze trailed after the now-absent children, she smiled, though it was a little sad and a little wry. "Master Yoda probably wouldn't allow it. And even if he did, Master Windu definitely wouldn't." Her lips twisted upward as she imagined Master Windu's irritated face upon seeing the Temple with beans flung all over it, and she had to laugh.

This would be her first real Ullambana, and it would be as a guest of honor – one of the ghosts.

For a moment, she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, a dress was finishing its assembly around her, knee-length and pale blue, soft in fabric and with striped strips of beads woven over the shoulders and down the sleeves. It was not dissimilar from many of the other dresses the women were wearing, and she smoothed it out a little, brushing at the skirt. She looked up and smiled a little at Rex, who was watching her quietly. He was still in his armor, of course. He changed it rarely, and usually at her prompting, but this time, he frowned a little, looked over at some of the Togruta walking nearby, and his body clouded momentarily as his aura brightened. When it resettled, he was wearing a plain pair of black pants and a loose fitting brown shirt, identical to what one of the nearby men was wearing.

She beamed at him, and he nodded once in acknowledgement. He knew it made her happy, to see him try to relax, to enjoy a moment, to just be _Rex_ for a little while instead of _Captain_ Rex. They saw enough that troubled them, recently. There should be moments, too, when there was rest and informality.

Stepping in a bit closer, she placed her free hand on his arm, and then tugged lightly on the fabric of the shirt, pulling him along. "Come on, there's something I want to see before we go to the fire."

She led him just off the main path they'd been following, and into a cluster of yurts, their doors all facing each other to make a little common area between them. Ahsoka glanced around, pursed her lips. A neighborhood of homes for an extended family. Each had what she was looking for, sitting just outside the doors, and she pulled Rex over to the nearest tent, one of dark grey with variegated stripes of turu-red on it. Two yellow lanterns with blue tassels were hung on either side of the door, a heavy tarp which hung down to the ground. To the left of the door, on the ground, was another yellow and blue lantern, though this one sat atop a small tripod. Before it was a mat woven of turu-grass, and sitting atop the mat were three ceramic bowls.

She knelt, and pulled Rex down with her. In each bowl was a different food item. In the first bowl was a deep, amber brown ale, with a rich scent of alcohol about it. In the middle bowl was a sweet cake made of red beans and milled turu-grass seeds: a treat. In the third was an invitingly blackened thimiar steak, the best cut of a haunch, visibly marbled with fat. Ahsoka tilted her head to the side and told him, "These are for us."

They hadn't eaten since they died. There really wasn't a need to. They didn't get hungry, didn't get sleepy or tired, didn't have any real physical needs to satisfy since they had no bodies that needed calories or rest. They could still feel, when they touched things, but taste they had not yet ventured to try to experience.

Rex ran his free hand over his face once, thoughtfully, a trail of yellow-gold spirit-light trailing after his fingers. "Can't pick it up," he said, eying the steak, then Ahsoka. "Are we supposed to eat out of the bowls?"

The food wouldn't have been left out if people didn't think any visiting ghosts couldn't actually make use of the food. Somehow, determining the actual mechanics of how a ghost would eat never occurred to her when she was alive. Stooping down and shoving her face into the bowl seemed comical to the point of being bizarre, and she wrinkled her nose at the prospect of eating like somebody's pet. It was traditional, to sit on a large rug on the floor, with food spread out on mats; the layout wasn't any different from an ordinary Togruta meal. Most food was eaten with the hands, and people frequently carried their own knives, which would be used to spear the thimiar. The bowl of ale would be filled from a decanter, then lifted with the hands. The cake would be picked up with a hand to be eaten.

With a small frown, she reached for the cake. Her fingers hovered over its glossy, imprinted surface for a moment, indecisive, and then she slid them down, wrapping them around the small cake as though she could actually pick it up. It had been a few years since she'd last tasted one of the rich cakes, between the months she'd been dead and the last time she'd been at the Temple for an Ullambana festival. There had to be a way of eating this one. She remembered they were very sweet….

And that was the moment the taste hit her tongue, and she gasped in surprise. Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened, and beside her, Rex stiffened in alarm as she jerked her hand back an inch. "Ahsoka –" he started, but she burst into a huge grin before he could worry any further.

"Rex, it's delicious! Touch it, and…" she paused. Rex had never had sweet cakes before. Was it the memory of the cake filling her mouth now, or was it simply the thought of enjoying the food she was touching? "Touch it and think about eating it," she decided, determined. She slid her fingers to the side, allowing him some space to place his fingers onto it as well. He moved slowly, placing one finger, then a second, on the curling designs imprinted onto the top of the cake, and his lips pressed together thinly for a moment while he concentrated. She saw the exact moment he understood, and the flavor flooded his mouth as well; his eyes rounded, lit up, and his tight-pressed mouth softened and fell open. Now that Rex was with her again, she turned her attention back to the dessert.

After going months without tasting anything, the incredibly rich flavor was startling; the thin pastry skin was sweet and glossy from where syrup had been poured after baking, creating a gleaming crust atop the imprint of a bao tree leaf. Mixed into that was the more savory flavor of the thick bean paste. She could taste it everywhere in her mouth, and the sweetness was heady enough to make her close her eyes and bow her head while she enjoyed it, concentrating on taste. Though she'd eaten the cakes before, she was sure this one was the best, the sweetest. Could anything taste better, after months of tasting nothing?

Whoever came up with the idea of leaving food out for the ghosts was brilliant. And thoughtful. They were going to have to try "eating" again sometime soon….maybe they could crash a fancy party somewhere in the upper levels of Coruscant. Even if there was no real need, simply having the sensation of taste again was nearly overwhelming. She opened her eyes a crack and looked at Rex, who had also bent his head and closed his eyes. His mouth was quirked in an uneven smile; he had a sweet tooth, she knew. The clones pretty much all did, and Rex was no exception in that sense, though he hid it well. She released the cake, and the flavor began to fade from her mouth. When she lightly dipped a finger into the ale, the taste of cake was replaced by the malted flavor of the alcohol. The ale's nutty, dry taste washed away the almost overpowering sugariness of the cake, cleansing her palette. With a wistful sigh, she removed her fingers from the drink and returned them to the sweetness of the cake.

"Not going to try the thimiar?" she heard him ask, his eyes now fully open again and watching her with a bit of amusement. She made a face, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Thimiar gave her a stomachache, and that often led to other unpleasant bodily functions related to the digestion of such an awful animal. Though she no longer had a body to digest the food, she didn't remember it with fondness, and had no desire to relive any of a dozen experiences of cramping and bloating. Thimiar was just foul, she didn't care how traditional it was for Togruta or how well cooked this particular piece seemed to be. Give her a nice, spicy kob curry or bantha burger any day. Rex started to chuckle, apparently amused by her disgusted expression. She arched an eyebrow, wryly, and though he stopped laughing, his smile did not fade.

The sound of a voice shouting, "Mom, come on!" interrupted their tableau, and the heavy tarp over the door of the yurt was yanked open by a young boy, who leapt out and danced in place a little. "Mom!" he called again, taking two fast steps away from the home before sighing dramatically and rushing back to stick his head into the doorway. "We'll miss it!"

"No we won't," a feminine voice returned from within, chiding gently. "I'll be there in a minute. Just wait, Taku."

The boy sighed heavily before stepping back and preparing to pout. He couldn't be much more than seven years old, with stubby lekku that barely curved past his chin, and montrals that were little more than soft swells on the top of his head. His pout was accentuated by a pair of white stripes on either side of his lips, trailing down over his chin and down his neck, and the white band of coloration that ran across his eyes and temples was furrowed where his brows were drawn together. His aura fluttered around him irritably, in shades of childish green and cranky carmine.

Rex chuckled, and Ahsoka joined him with a lighter giggle. Oh, the agony of waiting for Mom to take him to the festival! The boy sighed again and made an annoyed sound, before turning towards the ghost-meal set out beside his family's doorstep, his arms folded sulkily over his chest.

His expression changed, slowly, and as it did, the smiles on Rex and Ahsoka's faces faded. The boy tilted his head to the side and squinted rather than scowled. He wasn't quite face to face with Rex, and his gaze was slightly off center, but he was giving the appearance of inspecting Rex's ear very intently. Taku's lips twisted out of a sour curl and into a puzzled pucker, the shades of his aura brightening a bit with curiosity. His attention slid down, slowly, towards the food on the ground, then back up, just as slowly, until it came to a halt at about the level of Ahsoka's montrals. He tilted his head from one side, to the other, then leaned backward, still looking puzzled, as his eyes roamed what appeared to be empty space before him.

"Can he _see_ us?" Ahsoka asked, incredulous, pushing herself forward a bit and nudging Rex to the side.

As a response, Rex lifted a hand and placed it right in front of the kid's face, his blue and gold interacting with the edges of the boy's green and red. The boy stared straight through it for a moment, then wrinkled his nose and his eyes refocused, appearing to be staring at something right at the end of his nose. The moment passed almost as quickly as it came, however, as Taku's hazel eyes started to cross, and he shook his head as though to clear it. He wiped the back of his hand across his nose and sniffled once, before an uncertain, slightly wary expression started to fill his face.

Rex moved his hand across the boy's vision again, and when he shuddered a little and edged back a step towards the relative safety of the yurt's entrance, Ahsoka reached out and grabbed Rex's arm, tugging it back. "I don't think he understands. You're scaring him." She paused, looking at the boy for a long moment while Rex waited, looking at her.

Slowly, Ahsoka said, "Maybe he's _muuti_."

"_Muuti_?"

Ahsoka frowned and glanced briefly at Rex before returning her attention to the boy, who was now leaning against the doorframe and looking warily at the space they filled. "You know how I said children conceived during Ullambana are thought to be more likely to be Force-sensitive?" She nodded her head towards Taku, who, now leaning against the doorway, seemed to be calming somewhat as he stared through them. "There's also a thought that children born during Ullambana are closer to the ghosts, since they came into the world at the same time. When a baby first breathes, it takes in a new soul._ Muuti_ are ghost-born children. Reincarnates."

Taku sank down to the ground and folded his legs up. Spine straight, he sat at attention, as though he were in a classroom listening to a teacher. His hands rested in his lap, and his spirit-light flickered around him, growing calmer as each moment passed. He tilted his head to the side and sat, apparently determining to be patient – or at least as patient as a seven year old boy could be. After a few seconds, he started to squirm.

Rex made a thoughtful, humming noise in the back of his throat. "He still can't see us, but he seems to be able to sense us?"

That was as good of an assessment as she could make as well. Before Ahsoka could think of another way of testing the boy, the doorflap was drawn back, and a short, round woman with a white band of color across her hazel eyes emerged, a basket emanating the smell of sweets tucked under one arm. Her aura sparkled a cheerful yellow-pink combination, and judging by its luster, she was in a good mood. She laughed and looked down at her son, crouching just next to the doorway. "What are you doing down there? Come on, get up. You're the one who wanted to get to the fire in such a hurry." She hefted the basket under her arm and extended a hand towards the youngling.

Taku didn't move, and neither did Ahsoka or Rex. Taku bit his lip, then asked, "Mom, what do ghosts look like?"

His mother paused and turned around, so that she could see both her son and the offering of food sitting outside the doorway. Her skirt swirled around her ankles at the movement, and her aura flickered a little, in a way that was hard to determine. Her voice was gentle when she spoke. "They look like stars, Taku. Spirit-people look like stars. Are they enjoying their dinner?"

The boy looked up at her, then at the empty space that was filled with Rex and Ahsoka. Ahsoka tightened her grip on Rex's hand and arm where she gripped them. "Yes!" she said loudly, leaning forward and willing the boy to hear. "Yes, we are!"

Taku's brows furrowed again, and he frowned. His gaze turned towards his lap with uncertainty. "I don't know," he said, and Ahsoka leaned back on her knees, sighing in disappointment. Rex switched hands with her, then slipped his closer arm around her back, tugging her close. Ahsoka leaned against him and made a disgruntled noise.

"That's the most reaction we've gotten so far," Rex said, and though there was a sound of _encouragement_ in his tone, she could also feel his own sense of _disappointment_ wash over her. Still, there was _determination_ leavening his letdown. "Isn't this why you wanted to come? It's just starting. Let's see what else we can learn."

Ahsoka nodded once, dully. She'd never known a _muuti_ outside of holotexts. It was silly for her to think one, especially a child, would be any different from anyone else they'd tried to communicate with.

"Let's go," Rex said, and pulled her to her feet.

* * *

><p>Taku stood, and took his mother's extended hand. If, as they walked away and he glanced back over his shoulder, he saw a strange, vague swirl of sky-blue and gold light pulling an equally faint swirl of turquoise light upward, he did not say anything aloud. And if he saw those translucent globes of light fade into the dancing brightness of the lanterns above, he did not mention it to his mother or to anyone else that day. He would, though, during every Ullambana after, sit outside his home and watch and wait for any further faint swirls of color to arrive, dance, and depart.<p>

* * *

><p>There are so many influences in this chapter, I'm not even sure where to start!<p>

There seems to be very little real information on Shili or Togruta culture, so a lot of this is non-canon and made up for the fic. Many cultures have a kind of "Ghost Festival" or acknowledgement of the dead. Samhain, Halloween, Dia de los Muertos, All Saints Day, and Obon are a few. I've borrowed the word "Ullambana" from a sutra that served as part of the origin of the Japanese Obon festival.

The use of lanterns is also inspired by Obon – families usually have a lantern that is used to draw ancestral spirits to the home. They sell them in department stores in Japan in the summer and there's a variety of styles and sizes.

The bean throwing scene is a reference to a different Japanese festival, known as Setsubun. The purpose is to chase evil spirits/demons out of the home/dojo/place of gathering for good luck. Kids get way into it. Actually, so do grown-ups. At least foreign ones.

The sweet cakes described are strongly influenced by Chinese mooncakes. They're very tasty and very rich.

Bao trees are essentially giant fantasy versions of baobab trees.

Also, any Togruta beliefs about being born/conceived during Ullambana is my own creation, since Ullambana is non-canon! I also made up the term _muuti_.

In regards to Ahsoka's birthday being "eight months from now" – I'm using our real world, Earth calendar here. GFFA months and weeks are different (five days to a week, seven weeks to a month) but I didn't think most people would "get" the comment if I used the GFFA calendar. As for pregnancy lasting eight months instead of nine for Togruta, as far as I know, they're mammalian, same as humans, so birth would function the same way. And even with only rudimentary montrals and lekku, Togruta babies are going to have big heads. So, shorter pregnancy to compensate for size, so the kid can get out of mom.

Since this chapter is already much longer than any of the others, I decided to divide it in half. More Ullambana in the next part. Music for this chapter is _Rain Dance_, by Adiemus.

~Queen


	16. The Festival of Ghosts: Part 2

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p>"…<em>and they see only their own shadows,<em>

_or the shadows of one another,_

_which the fire throws on the opposite wall of the cave…"_

_-Plato, "The Republic"_

* * *

><p>Chapter 15. The Festival of Ghosts: Part 2<p>

* * *

><p>They moved through the festival, Rex leading by a step and pulling Ahsoka through the winding paths towards the center of the village, and sometimes through yurts or people too. She'd looked forward to this, the last few weeks, when she realized what time of year it was on Shili. Though still determined to enjoy the experience, and to see what they could learn, somehow, the experience with Taku and his mother was a letdown, and it added a heaviness to her expectations, brought them back down to what had become their reality the last few months. They were unseen and unheard, and it seemed they would always be that way. Their lingering here was useless.<p>

Rex must have seen the colors around her dull, because he pulled her up towards him, parallel, and squeezed her hand. She managed to give him a resolute, if somewhat sad smile in exchange for the silent encouragement, and attempted to keep pace with him better. The crowd was thickening, and they edged closer to each other. It was easy enough to merely walk through the people, but it felt intrusive and odd to do so, even though it happened frequently enough. They couldn't bump into people or excuse themselves through the crowd. She let Rex steer them around as many people as they could, and they ghosted through the rest, momentarily feeling circulating blood and breath before passing into the next person.

The crowd thrummed with energy, and the quiet chatter that filled the paths was now a steady rumble punctuated by shouts and calls and underpinned by the roll of drums. Rex pulled them through another knot of people, and Ahsoka held onto his hand with both of hers as they slid through a group of old men and women, chatting pleasantly as they decided where to sit. The sound of drumming grew more intensive as they drew closer to its origin, and she could feel the reverberations in her montrals, echoing upward and filling them with sound. Upbeat, deep, it was hard not to feel swept up in the thrumming, pounding beat, and she could not resist a stronger smile and picking up her feet. It was dancing music, and as she looked over her shoulder, she could see a huddle of young men about her age bouncing around in a little space they'd cleared, each trying to outdo the other with leaps and turns, some girls nearby tittering coyly as they watched.

And then they were gone, out of sight as she moved forward. Her smile saddened. Would she have been like them, had she not been born with the Force humming inside her? It looked…fun.

Rex stopped, and she almost bumped into him. He was looking around, craning his neck. Then he said, decisively, "This way," before tugging her along again.

A moment later, they emerged at the front of the crowd, and heat washed over them. It was a different kind of warmth than that of the crowd. That was the heat of people pressing in, moist and sweaty. This was a different, drier heat, all smoke and flame from the bright orange bonfire stacked up in the center of the clearing.

The assart was free of the ubiquitous sky lanterns drifting overhead, and the branches of the bao trees had been cut back so that the bonfire ran no risk of catching on their wood. Above was only sleek black sky, the brightness of the lanterns and the fire enough to blot out the stars. The trees, liberally placed nearby, were cast into deeper shadows among their branches, which seemed to be stretching out towards the deliberately empty space, trying to fill it with more than smoke. One or two lanterns floated idly within the branches, snared, providing dots of yellow brightness amid what was otherwise all shadow.

Grass was uprooted from the assart, to prevent anything from catching fire, and the crowd hemmed in the cleared space, marked at the edges with tall torches, burning brightly overhead. A few small stands had been built, and they dotted the area, occupied by older people and by families with young children. Families and groups of friends had spread out blankets, reclining and unloading food onto them. A ripple of laughter rose up from a cluster of blankets as some joke or story was shared.

To the right of the oval clearing, a pavilion sat, lifting the drummers a few feet higher into the air so that the crowd could better see them. Their lekku were tied back with white cloths, and sweat rolled down their bare necks as they struck the barrel shaped, wooden drums on the floor before them. The performance had hit a slower spell, and the five drummers struck the drums with a methodical steadiness.

To the left, the crowd hung back slightly, and there were three rows of red pillows laid out on the ground, unoccupied by anyone. "Rex," Ahsoka said, and began to pull him along the front of the crowd until they reached the seats. They lay still on the ground, clean and free of dust or dirt. Ahsoka sighed, then sat in the first row, kneeling with her feet tucked under her, Rex settling down beside her with his legs out before him, at ease.

"Are these special?" he asked, glancing around at the empty pillows around them.

She nodded. "They're reserved for us. The ghosts." With a glance down the otherwise empty row, she sighed again. She wasn't sure what she'd expected, really. She'd never seen a ghost before, not a real one. She'd always considered the empty seats reserved for the ghosts at the Temple gatherings to be more a sign of respect for the dead, rather than a literal place for actual disembodied people to sit. Perhaps a little part of her had hoped maybe it would be different here on Shili, with them dead; maybe they'd see some other ghosts floating around, just as hapless as they were. Rex was great, but it'd be nice to have some other company. Especially if that company knew more about the whole concept of being a ghost. So far, though, it seemed whatever their situation was, it was unique, and they were alone.

Rex's tug on her hand brought her back out of her thoughts, and she smiled a little for him. "I guess I was half hoping there'd be others." Her blue-green light swirled around her, twirling quickly for a moment before settling into its more usual steady gleam. Rex's light dimmed a little in response, a bit of sympathetic _disappointment_ flowing off of him. Ahsoka pressed her lips together and tried to concentrate, to let some of her own _disappointment_ flow away into the Force. She wasn't ready to give up. Not yet. She tightened her hand in his, focusing on the feel of his broad palm against her narrow one. Rex's hand was always warm, but never really sweaty. Between the solid feel of his hand in hers, and the warmth, the sensation of their clasped hands grounded her and steadied her. She couldn't let herself wallow in _disappointment _or_ loss_; Rex needed her steady, and she wouldn't fail him.

Suddenly, the drumming sped into a rapid roll, then stopped. The silence on the stage seemed to signal silence among the crowd as well, and hushing noises whispered through the air, dimming the noisy rumble into a murmur. Rex stiffened beside her, stretching upward and leaning to the side to get a better look. The pavilion was half hidden behind the tall, stacked pyre of wood at the center of the bonfire. Ahsoka leaned to the right as well, trying to see what was happening. The five drummers on the stage were bowing, and another group was emerging, similarly dressed and also with their lekku bound back. New drums were being set up quickly, and a chair brought out for a large man with a bao-wood lute. A woman in impressive robes with a heavy sash hanging from her hips took to the center of the stage, a small black electronic headpiece protruding from the jewelry adoring her montrals, wrapping around her cheek towards her mouth. The five new drummers took up places at the drums, with a sixth standing behind them, a massive timpani on its side just next to her. A young girl sat on the pavilion's edge, her legs crossed at the ankles, as she slipped the mouthpiece of a double pipe into her mouth and blew into the flute experimentally.

The muscular woman at the large drum struck first, and the deep _dhuum_ of the instrument rolled out like a thunderclap against the air, echoes bouncing back as they struck the thick tree trunks. The audience jumped at the sound, which was repeated, then joined, by those on the smaller, pot-bellied drums.

Several men and women in form fitting grey clothing had emerged from behind the pavilion, each bearing torches in one hand and broad smiles on their mouths. In unison, they unhooked canteens from their hips, took a drink, then lifted the torches close to their lips. Giant petals of flame shot forward in a rush towards the crowd, eliciting delighted shrieks and gasps as the fire darted near enough to thrill, but not enough to frighten.

A guffaw from Rex distracted Ahsoka. One of the fire-breathers was walking towards them, spinning his torch expertly around like a baton, the yellow flames following like a comet. Rex's face was lit by the firelight, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. Ahsoka's face softened, then she smiled. He looked like any one of the kids sitting nearby, though his mouth gaped slightly less. As the fire-breather sent another pillar up into the air, Rex rocked back slightly as the flames rushed outward towards them, then away. The fire-breather moved further past, sauntering over towards a group of children further to their left, and twirled the fire around him, high overhead. Ahsoka leaned back a little, allowing Rex a better view as he leaned forward to watch. He noticed her observation of him, and his eyes changed their focus from the fire-breather to her for just long enough to return her smile.

He was _happy_. It was an uncomplicated feeling, light and _delighted_, and she felt the last of her _disappointment_ fade away. He hadn't known what to expect, not really, even with her vague descriptions of what should happen. They'd rested some days, since their deaths, but this was the first festival they'd attended – and Ahsoka wondered, suddenly, if this was the first time Rex had ever experienced this sort of fun. Another burst of light and heat from a second fire-breather, this one a young woman, distracted them, and they turned to see her leap into the air, performing a one-handed cartwheel as her torch swung around with her, deftly held to the side and out of harm's way as the drums picked up the pace, pounding louder against the air. Another performer beyond the woman was swinging a pair of cords around himself, the balls on the ends lit and creating circles upon circles of flame as he twisted and spun the ribbons of fire around himself expertly.

A roar of approval went up from the crowd, accompanied by applause and sharp whistles. Ahsoka moved to join them, as did Rex, and they found themselves unable to without releasing hands. It caused a moment of consternation, then laughter, before Rex thumped his free hand against his thigh and Ahsoka whistled loudly, nudging him with her shoulder and earning a grin in return.

The performance continued, the displays of fire and light illuminating and then shadowing the performers and the audience in bursts, as fresh plumes of flame ignited and died away. Slowly, though, the whirling, fiery figures began to back themselves towards the pavilion, darting back into the darkness as the drums slowed their beat and the heavily jeweled and dressed woman with the headpiece took center stage, opened her mouth, and began to sing.

It was slow, her voice a honeyed contralto, and it flowed out over the assembly with a richness that the earlier, fast drumming did not possess. But there was also a depth to the song, even from the first, acapella notes, that drew the attention and quiet of everyone listening. Her voice carried easily through the assart, but could also be heard from deeper within the crowd. Ahsoka listened, and she could hear the somewhat more mechanized sound of the song echoing behind her, duplicated by speakers hidden within the trees and taken further into the depths of the village. The lutist then began to play, the gentle twang of the strings slipping into the song to support the singer, and the flutist began her own melody, weaving it slow and gentle around the voice, and the strings, and the low, gentle drumming.

Into the song came a soft clatter, and out from the shadows on the sides of the pavilion came dancers in long dresses of grey. Their montrals were decorated in akul teeth and thimiar bone, their shoulders covered in warm kob fur. Heavy, traditional tribal belts in deep blue and purple tones hung around their waists, trailing down over the soft grey fabric of their ankle-length skirts. They spun outward, twirling, their movements slow and stylized and exact as they moved. The clatter came again, a gentle clicking noise from the wooden castanets on their fingers. They circled the bonfire, silhouettes dark against the silky orange-yellow flame, their spirit-lights overwhelmed by the larger fire and nearly indistinguishable against the more powerful light behind them.

They cast long shadows. Each step seemed as much about the interplay of their shadows as it did about the delicate, deliberate motions they made. Each foot was placed slowly, specifically. A foot forward, a slight twist to the left, arms swing down, bend at the waist, head turn to the right, lekku swaying in the empty space above the ground. Then the unified click of a dozen dancers snapping their castanets at once, and a sweeping motion of the arms towards the sky. The shadows danced around them, stretched out long and thin across the ground, sinuously reaching for each other, for the crowd, for the black sky above, deepening as they reached other shadows, fading as they drew too close to the bonfire's overpowering light.

Rex's voice sounded close to her montral, deep enough to make her shiver slightly before she was able to focus on his question. "What does it mean?"

The dancers moved again, slow and exact. They arched their backs, heads tilted skyward, fingers stretching for stars unseen as their lekku trailed behind them. Ahsoka lowered her eyes, respectfully. She'd seen images of this before, in her holotexts, and simpler versions danced at the Temple. "They're shades."

"Shades?"

A nod. "Living people. Remember the story I told you, about the sun and moons making the Togruta?" Rex nodded, and she continued. "When Man and Woman went up into the sky, they shed their physical forms and became stars. The body is clay, the spirit is a star." The dancers turned again, jewelry flashing in the firelight as their hands came up before them, crossed at the wrists, heads and bodies bowed. Then their hands stretched out, palms up, lekku writhing slowly around their waists. "The body is just a shadow. A shade. Not the person's real form." Something Master Yoda said in one of the youngling classes came back to her then, and she echoed it. "Bodies are just crude matter. We're luminous inside. The body's just a shadow of the reality. The dance is how we go through our daily lives, then…" she trailed off and made a motion towards the blaze behind the dancers, streaming smoke upward into the air. "Death. Stars and luminosity and lasting for billions of years before the end of the universe."

The dancers turned again, one foot stepping behind the other, heels off the ground before they turned and lifted one bare foot, relying on the other for balance, tilting to the side so that one foot hung in the air, blade out. Their faces were downturned, one hand dangling just above the dirt. Then, together, they came back down, stomping the ground firmly, once, and taking another step forward, followed by one back, arms outstretched to the sides and castanets clattering as their montrals dipped and lekku wavered, shadows leaping and stretching, lengthening and thickening in accompaniment.

Rex was tense beside her, and she could feel some sort of peculiar _agitation_ prickling him. His spirit-light had drawn tight and pensive around him, the golden threads running through the blue seeming to sparkle. Allowing some of her own, cool green tones to sluice over him, she asked, gently, "What's wrong?"

He glanced at her, briefly, then returned his attention to the dancers, moving so slowly and perfectly to the sensuous music. The firelight turned his brown eyes near to gold, and strengthened the yellow of his spirit light around his face so that he seemed to glow. His neck and shoulders, though, were a cascade of shadows that blended into the darkness at his back. After a long moment, his brows drew down deeply, and he said, "The Son said something similar."

She blinked once, hard and fast, and frowned. The Son. Nothing good came from the Son. "What do you mean?"

"He said something along those lines. That we didn't cast shadows on the wall anymore, so we couldn't be seen." He continued to frown at the dancers, but the _agitation_ around him was giving way to something almost like _excitement_. "He was mocking us, but it was the same image that you're describing." He looked at her after another long moment. "Ahsoka, how does a ghost cast a shadow?"

"I…" she trailed off, stricken. She was the Jedi, the one who learned about mysticism. She was the Togruta, who had stories to tell about stars and clay and fighting, and knew more of such things than a clone who really only knew war. But she was also the Padawan, half-trained and not quite seventeen. She looked at the dancers, as they stepped heavily, one time after another, in unison with one heavy beat of the drum after another. She changed her focus. The fire burned behind them, bright as any spirit light, as any sun beheld too close, and the flute and the song buoyed the brightness and carried it into the soul of anyone with montrals or ears to hear it.

Stars and spirits. She lifted a hand, and looked at the aura of electric blue-green surrounding it. She flexed her fingers, and the light moved around her hand, flowing wide, then narrow, at her command. Could spirit-light be shaped, like a shadow? Could spirit-light be _cast_?

The dancers in their grey dresses were set in sharp chiaroscuro against the fire, and if she looked past the moving shades, the fire seemed to emanate its light most intensely between them.

"I have an idea," she said, and a small smile began to spread across her face. Rex's eyes were inquisitive on her, waiting for an explanation. Her little smile became a slow, victorious grin. It _felt_ right. "We don't have shadows to cast, Rex. But we _do_ have light."

She lifted a hand, and with a thought and barely a bit of effort, she let the aurora-like luminosity that was now her body strengthen, expand, and _glow_.

* * *

><p>The taper was slender, long, and lit.<p>

A small yellow flame flickered at the tip, guttering in what little breeze was created by the airflow of the apartment's circulation systems. Dark, the taper provided the only light until it touched the wick of the candles on the table before her. Slowly, the brightness grew as new lights were added to the room, gleaming steadily amid the half melted wax around them.

She puckered her pale lips, and blew out the taper. A stream of white smoke rose up from the tip, trailing as she set it aside, balancing on the edge of the rectangular tray before her, on which the squat candles sat. Another tray rested nearby, at the end of the long, low table. Three metal bowls rested on the tray, one filled with a slice of bantha meat, one with blue milk, and one with a tasteless, grayish pudding the Kaminoans considered a sweet treat in the final bowl. It was not much of an offering, but it was the best she could manage out of Tipoca's eminently practical and overwhelmingly vast cafeteria, where bland nutrients were regarded as far more important than flavor.

Shaak Ti folded her legs and arranged her long robe around her, letting it pool on the floor. She sat on a plush floor pillow, letting it cushion her, even as she let the candlelight comfort her. Kamino was a so frequently a cold place, clinical, white-grey, so much like the species native to it. The flames were too small to provide heat, but the warmed her all the same. The longer she looked at them, the more color they seemed to possess: white, blue, yellow, red, orange, all within such a little space.

She could not be at the Temple this year, nor was she able to be at the Temple last year, either. Still, keeping the tradition was a comfort. In this place of whiteness and technology and regimentation, the candles and the meal set out for ancestors reminded her of who she was, where she came from, the place she considered her home, even if she could not live there.

Her eyes closed, lashes falling onto her white cheeks, and she let her body relax as she set her hands onto her knees, preparing to meditate. The light of the candles pressed against her eyelids, interrupting the absolute black that otherwise lingered there. Her breaths were slow, deep, and out slower, the tips of her lekku curling and uncurling in accordance. The silence in the room grew heavy, and she grew more aware of the faint sounds beyond the not-quite-soundproof walls; of Kaminoans' soft steps passing her door, of the ventilation system's whirl, of the ever-present rain lashing against her window, spattering it with raindrops. She breathed, and was content.

There was no particular reason to open her eyes when she did. Deep into her meditation, into the still, calm place she sought in her mind and in the Force, she did not feel any compunction to look around. Nothing had changed, her room was empty of bodies other than her own, but so slowly, she felt she was not alone.

Her head did not move, nor did her lekku twitch or her hands curl around her knees. Her eyes, though, slid towards the three bowls set out for any who wished to share a meal with her on Ullambana. The three bowls sat still and unperturbed by any motion. The bantha steak still rose just slightly over the bowl's rim, the blue milk still pooled an inch below the fullest point, the pudding still looked unappetizing and lumpy. Her eyes closed again, momentarily, before sliding back towards the candles, to look at their blend of brightness before she returned to her meditating.

They were not normal. Infinitesimally, her eyes narrowed, and her head tilted to one side as she grew attentive. The flames clung to their wicks, but they tilted inward and back, away from her and towards the deepening shadows of the rest of her quarters. The process was slow, but their brightness was slowly intensifying, and the blue core around the wick was expanding and taking on streaks of vibrant green as well.

She followed the shape of the brightness with her eyes, letting them flow upward into the yellow candle glow. The little bit of airflow in the room seemed to give breath to the candlelight, stirring it and shaping it. The yellowness of the light faded, grew pallid, spectral, something silvery, still, and ghost-pale.

Two large eyes were looking at her, heavily framed with lashes. A nose began to emerge, cheeks. Patterns of white formed over darker flesh tones, like a monochrome sculpture. The familiar chevrons of montrals and lekku appeared, swirling up above the forehead and down over the shoulders. The rest of her figure faded away into the darkness, unseen. She was a face, a neck, a pair of shoulders and the hint of a torso and pair of arms. If she reached out, she could touch the incorporeal girl across from her, so close was the apparition across the table.

And she knew the girl, and knew her dead these several months past. The white, natural tattoos of the Togruta marked her face clearly, and she wore the teeth of an akul on her headdress.

Shaak Ti's voice was soft when she acknowledged the presence. "Padawan."

Ahsoka Tano's spirit-face lit, her eyes widened, her lips pulled into a smile of such vast relief and joy that Shaak smiled softly in return. It was an honor, nearly unheard of, but an honor, to receive such a visit. So few ever saw those already gone to the stars, to the Netherworld of the Force. Even few of the _muuti_ received such a gift. She inclined her head, respectfully. "You honor me with your visit, departed one."

The girl's lips opened, formed words, but there was no sound. The joy in her face faded, and she opened her mouth again, shaping words, but again there was no sound. The Padawan closed her eyes and lowered her head. The silvery light around her dulled, intensified for a moment as some other blur of being moved partially into view, and then faded away as the Padawan was drawn back by a force she could not see with her eyes.

The candles quivered, the green fading from their centers as they shivered back into more natural positions on their wicks, bobbing and dipping a few times as they settled.

The smile on her face lingered, as did the proud warmth in her chest. Ahsoka Tano was a terribly independent Togruta, non-traditional and determined and far too attached to what she cared about. They were so different as people, but she saw some echo of herself in Tano, when she was that age. Shaak closed her eyes, thoughtful. The girl's face was so happy as she took shape, was seen, was acknowledged. Her face was so sad, so disappointed, when no words flowed from her mouth, even when she tried. She so clearly wished to speak. To be heard. But could not be, though she tried.

To the empty air she said, "_Persevere_."

* * *

><p>Ahsoka lifted her hands up and curled them around Rex's arm, which was wrapped around her chest. They sat on the floor, deeper in the shadows of Master Ti's apartment. Pulled up against him, she could feel his chest against her back, his cheek against the side of her left montral. His legs stretched out further than hers, and her feet only reached his mid-calf, when she looked down at the way they sat.<p>

There was a moment when she thought they'd really gotten it. Master Ti _saw_ her, _acknowledged_ her.

But could not hear her.

A word was spoken into the air. "_Persevere_."

Her fingers tightened on Rex's forearm, and she twisted enough to the side to face him. He looked tense, waiting for her reaction. His spirit-light was encompassing her as much as it could, attempting to comfort. He was worried about her. She didn't want him to worry, but his caring pleased her, nevertheless.

She smiled, and it was real, if somewhat sad. Rex's face relaxed, and Ahsoka glanced at Master Ti again. The Jedi Master had resumed her meditation, but there was a peaceful smile on her lips, and her ruby-gold aura shimmered pleasantly around her, _content_ and _hopeful_ and with such a rich depth of color that could only indicate _strength_.

Ahsoka let herself relax a bit, her head tilting back against Rex's shoulder. Somehow, she felt that Master Ti had faith in her, and the feeling gave her some courage. "Guess we still need to learn how to talk," she admitted. She gave him a sideways glance. "Any ideas?"

He was watching her, carefully, a little bit of _puzzlement_ and a little bit of something she could only determine as _guilty pleasure_ flickering around him. The sensations grew the longer they lingered, and slowly, something like _awkwardness_ began to override the _pleasantness_ he was experiencing. Then, abruptly, he stiffened against her, the softness in his face disappeared, and he straightened, his grip on her loosening even as his slight movement displaced her reclining position against him. His voice was crisp and formal when he replied, "We need to consider the situation further and plan. I recommend returning to Shili for further discussion."

Her hands were still around his forearm, keeping them connected, but the Rex sitting there now was all Captain. And he was right. She sighed and straightened as well, slipping her hands down to his wrist, then his hand and clasping it. She nodded once, but gave him a winning smile. "We'll figure it out."

She didn't know how yet, but their success tonight was proof. It could be done. They could be seen.

Now they just needed to be heard.

* * *

><p>The music in the dancing scene is set to <em>Lords of Kobol<em> from the _Battlestar Galactica_ soundtrack, by Bear McCreary.

Just to make sure everyone's clear – when Ahsoka and/or Rex 'go visible' they're the more silver/blue/grey color you see in the movies or in TCW for Force ghosts. The colors change, mostly to ensure canon-compliance.

Next chapter's a long one! Hope you're ready.

~Queen


	17. A Figure in Black: Part 1

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p><em>"You think the dead we love ever truly leave us?<em>

_You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble?"_

_-Albus Dumbledore, "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban"_

* * *

><p>Chapter 16. A Figure in Black: Part 1<p>

* * *

><p>There were some men who should not be woken, when trapped in the throes of a nightmare.<p>

Rex suspected General Skywalker was one such man; he too often struck before he thought. There were plenty of brothers the same way, those who could not leave battles on the field, who carried their injuries home, not in the form of a broken body, but a broken mind. Skywalker too often seemed invincible; no matter how bad the battle, how desperate the situation, he survived, and often with bravado.

It was eerie seeing him now, looking so much like one of his brothers suffering from dark dreams. It was not in the shape of his face that lay the similarity; Anakin Skywalker was no clone, and did not bear any resemblance to one, but the manner was the same. He lay on his bunk, in his private quarters on board the star cruiser, his body taut with tension and fear, quivering every few moments as though fighting some enemy the waking world could not see. The thin blanket over his body was twisted and half thrown off him. His hair was matted to his forehead with sweat, and his breath came thin and irregular, raspy and hitching as he twitched. His hands were stretched out, one above him on the pillow, one lying at his side, and his fingers curled into fists, even as the two of them stood over his bedside and watched.

Ahsoka was stricken, looking at the prone figure almost fearfully. The sweat and the harsh breathing was not the worst of it. The worst was his aura. Had Rex any flesh, it would have been crawling at the sight of it. The blackness was nearly consuming Skywalker, and in such a way that the spirit-light, usually so smooth and fluid, was writhing around him like worms or maggots, all clumped into little bunches of seething energy. The white light that should have been serving as a counterpoint and balance to the black was subsumed, barely showing through the shuddering morass.

They'd come in hopes of trying out their theory of speaking. Skywalker was still the one they were both familiar with, close to. And with each visit, it seemed he needed them all the more. This nauseating display only emphasized that need. General Ti may be most familiar with Togruta customs, but she did not need their help, presence, or voice.

After spending several hours on Shili, discussing, debating, and deliberating over the success of becoming visible, they formed a theory and a plan about learning to speak. The key was somewhere in projection, they decided. Projecting their spirit-light created shape – was there some way of using it as a medium to project sound, as well? And if so, how? It did not happen automatically, when Ahsoka tried to speak to General Ti. If not, then what could be used as a medium to project sound?

They decided to try visiting the General again, and found him in this state. Ahsoka, standing closer to his head, reached out as though to place a hand on his forehead, but hesitated, turning towards Rex with a look of uncertainty. Her aurora-colors clung tightly to her, intense and oscillating with nervousness. They had no way of touching living beings, either. They slipped through anything physical. Even if they could feel things, nothing could feel them.

"Do you think I can wake him up?" Ahsoka asked, uncertainly, voicing the problem. Even if she shook his shoulder or smoothed his forehead, Skywalker wouldn't be able to feel it.

Rex adjusted his position, taking a half step in closer to her and standing with his feet planted firmly on the floor, solidly at her back. Ahsoka knew more about the risks of waking a disoriented and possibly antagonistic and panicked Force-user, but in this case, it was unlikely the General would be able to harm them. He hesitated before moving again; part of him wanted to lean closer, press his shoulder against hers in a silent statement of solidarity. The memory of how comfortably she reclined against him the day before was fresh in mind, however, and he vacillated. Ahsoka was not supposed to be _comfortable_, nor was she supposed to lounge against his chest. The more he thought about it, the more it became apparent they had been spending a great deal of time touching each other since their deaths. Not having contact with her would seem the stranger situation now.

She was still staring at him, wide eyed and waiting for an answer, and he drew his thoughts back into order. The answer to her question was obvious, though. "Try. Worst case, nothing happens."

The edge of a tooth peeked out from her upper lip to bite her lower one, worrying at it for a moment before she gave him a resolute nod, and her expression gained some firmness as a course was laid out for her. She breathed in deeply, then out slowly, her free hand slowly stretching towards General Skywalker's forehead, pulsating with the black clotting. The electric blue-green of her fingers whirled quickly as it came into contact with the General's matte black, then deepened in intensity as Ahsoka's hand entered the darkness. Ahsoka's hand tensed in Rex's as the General's black aura overcame hers for a long moment, rendering it invisible. Rex squeezed, ignored the awkwardness of touching her, and leaned closer, pressing his left shoulder into her right one. She puffed out her cheeks and let out a burst of air, grimacing in concentration for a moment before the black aura began showing cracks of aurora-like turquoise. The blackness boiled around her hand in a fury, breaking apart at the application of Ahsoka's light.

She took another breath, and lowered her hand the rest of the way, so that her palm rested on General Skywalker's forehead. "Master. Anakin. You're having a nightmare. You need to wake up."

When there was no response, she tried again, louder and more intensely, her ghost-light flaring around her as she slid her hand around the General's face so that her hand was instead on his cheek. She slapped him once, twice, light but firm, while she tried to shout, "Anakin, wake up!"

The blackness was writhing around him, trying to climb up over Ahsoka's aura, slipping and sliding away with every attempt to overcome her, to fight her off. Rex reached out with his right hand, brushing them away to help Ahsoka with her work, and he received a brief, tight smile of thanks in return. "This isn't any different from what we've tried before. I'm going to try projecting us."

Rex nodded once, and Ahsoka's attention turned back to the General, her face grim and her hand tightly gripping his. He tightened his grip in return, adjusting his position at her back so he could more easily pull her away if something went wrong. "Ready," he told her, and her lekku flexed in a way he'd learned meant, "_Understood_."

She returned her hand to his forehead, the clumpy black worms of his aura peeling away and tumbling over each other as she placed her palm over his brows. "Okay, Master," she murmured as she bent her head, and the light around her intensified, and her bright fingers seemed to seep into the surface of his skin. "Try this."

What happened next, Rex knew neither of them expected.

The goal was to wake General Skywalker up, to make themselves seen and heard. Instead, there was a pull and a rush, and the soft, startled shriek of Ahsoka as they lurched unexpectedly forward, blindly falling – until they were not.

The ground was hard, and his hands were empty. For a moment, he flailed, hands grasping for the presence that had occupied them for so many months. What he found instead was dirt, gritty with hard-packed sand, and his head was ringing from impact, the display of his HUD flashing emergency warnings and nonsensical data in a stream so rapid he couldn't read it. His stomach clenched and he reached out again, rolling himself from his stomach onto his back as he heard a nearby moan in a familiar voice.

His hands were empty, but she was still there. He breathed a little, gulping as he took a moment to flick his eyes over the frenetic readout, and blink in the order of commands for it to reset. The screen went blank, dark. He hadn't been wearing his bucket when they were with the General, didn't remember moving it back or shifting his appearance, but he was glad of its presence. He'd rather be fully suited up when something unexpected happened, at least until he could assess the danger. The HUD abruptly cleared, and he found himself staring up at a cloudless blue sky, the edges of his vision hemmed in by daub colored buildings. He flailed with his hands again, reaching out as he rolled to one side, to look around. His hands were too empty. It felt wrong. Ahsoka should be there.

"Rex?" a voice croaked out, and he twisted the other way, seeing Ahsoka lying nearby on the ground, though she'd managed to push herself partly up on her hands. She began to cough, roughly, before lifting her head. They stared at each other for a long moment, until Ahsoka's eyes widened in panic, and she pushed herself forward, half leaping, half crawling along the ground with one hand outstretched.

Letting go meant separation. He could fade into the Force, without her. Ahsoka careened into him gracelessly, and he was knocked back onto his back, from where he'd managed to prop himself up on one elbow. Her hands sought out his, grasped them tightly. Her breath was coming quick and short, though he could hear her trying to slow it. "Are you alright?" she asked, her head hovering over his, eyes searching the black visor for some indication of his condition as the tips of her lekku flicked over his shoulders and neck, as though to check for injury or reassure herself of his presence.

He squeezed her hand, and her face relaxed. She withdrew slightly, but didn't let go of his hands, pulling him halfway up in the process. She was in one piece, though was wearing a coat of dust and sand from their fall to the ground, her right cheek and lekku smudged with dirt. Looking down further, he froze as her waist came into view. "Ahsoka. Your lightsabers."

They were there, both the regular saber and the smaller _shoto_, affixed as usual to her hips. He heard her gasp, and a hand flew downward to rest on the pommel of the larger of the two Jedi weapons. "Rex, your blasters!"

And there they were, the DC-17 hand blasters, holstered at his hips. They no longer needed their weapons, hadn't needed them for months – so why were they back now? Though the more immediate question was: "Where are we?"

It was a city. A glance around, though, revealed it was an empty city. No beings moved between the walls of adobe, which stretched upward into domed roofs. Small gusts of wind sent wisps of hissing sand snaking their way across the ground. Doorways and windows were left dark, gaping like blank eyes and empty mouths. Even sightless, the structures seemed to be watchful of them. The shadows on the ground lay thickly, crisscrossing each other strangely in the harsh sunlight. Rex tilted his head up and followed their trajectory, seeking out the source of light that cast them. Above one tall building was the burning orange disc of a sun, and just beyond it, half hiding beyond the tower of another building, was its second, redder twin.

Ahsoka came to the same conclusion he did, and managed to name the desert world first. "Tatooine." She paused, then added, "Master was from here."

A dry wind blew another scattering of yellow sand through the air. Tarps stretched out in front of buildings shuddered at the gust, the edges of the shade beneath them wobbling. Still, there were no people. There was no reason a city on Tatooine would be deserted. Rex's frown deepened. Something was wrong – they hadn't transported here. Transporting didn't end up with them sprawled on the ground, winded and confused. They had their weapons back. He hadn't vanished the moment they'd lost physical contact. "I don't think this is really Tatooine."

Ahsoka gave him a look of consternation for a moment, then a look more of thoughtfulness, which she turned towards the empty city. "I was trying to wake Master up, by projecting our image into his head so he could see us…" she trailed off, then laughed once, sharp but amused. "Well, _that_ didn't work out how we thought."

"We're inside General Skywalker's nightmare, instead."

A nod. "I think so."

This wasn't the battlefield. There were no explosions, no tanks, no _burning fire death_. There was no stink of burnt flesh or smoke or overturned earth or scorched metal or blood, but maybe that was his nightmare more than the General's. It was too quiet. Rex looked down at his hands, twined with Ahsoka's. He hadn't faded away, when they arrived. Slowly, he extricated his hands from hers, gauntleted fingers slipping out from between her callused, sienna ones. Hers remained poised over his for several long moments, ready to grab at him if there was any change, but there was no fading, no transparency. He risked a look at her face, which was looking down, intent on their hands, close, but not in contact. It was the first time in all these months that his blue-gold spirit-light was not in full contact with her aurora iridescence. The colors around them were flickering towards each other, apprehensive at the disconnect.

"We're both okay," Rex told her as the seconds continued on and there was no change. Ahsoka gave a curt nod, then looked up into his visor. She was still nervous, and to be truthful, so was he. The silence around them was oppressive, lifeless in a place that should have been bustling with life. This, too, was a new trick, and one they had not anticipated. There were too many variables, things they could not expect. He felt a little better for having his blasters, but what good would they do here? Could they do any good here? What kind of battlefield was this place, empty of any soldiers or droids? What was causing so much distress in General Skywalker? What kind of nightmare did such a man have?

A woman's scream of pain sliced through the silence of the city in the sand.

The thought that it was good to have his blasters in hand again was a fleeting one. A lifetime of training to protect, to defend, to fight, to place themselves in the space between death and life took over, and Rex and Ahsoka were running before the piercing cry reached its peak and began to fade.

The city of adobe, daub and harsh light moved past them in a blur of yellow sand and cream colored mud brick. They stopped in a small plaza, a meeting point of several roads. Rex glanced at Ahsoka. The sound had faded, and from here, he could not tell the direction. Ahsoka, leaning forward and with both lightsaber hilts in hand, seemed to be listening, her head tilted to the side and the dark tips of her montrals were quivering. Togruta hearing was superior to human, and the Force lent her senses far beyond mere sound. Abruptly, she swiveled, tearing off towards the left moments before a second scream punctured the air.

They reached the edge of a marketplace with a wide wall encompassing the space between each shop. Drawing to a halt at the end of the street, the comforting dual hiss of two familiar lightsabers igniting filled the air, humming as they whirled into place. The square was not overly large, but it was open, without cover. One squat store at the far end seemed different from the others, though how, Rex could not quite understand. It stood out in some way, looming hazily above the rest with a menacing air, even though it also seemed no larger or more impressive than any other store in the area. Large chunks of scrap metal squatted before it, and a further assembly of old junk could be seen through an arch in the wall behind it.

It was the shape standing before it, though, that truly marked it as their destination.

The figure was still, silent, cloaked fully in black. The pale white of thin curling hands was visible at the end of sleeves, and a narrow, pallid face could just be seen under the edge of a voluminous hood. The man's eyes were too shrouded in shadow to see, the cowl drawn down too low.

And he cast no spirit-light. There was only the perfect black of his robe and the sick pallor of his white hands. He cast no shadow under the unrelenting light of the twin suns.

The figure bore no weapons that could be seen, other than an air of wrongness and ill-feeling menace. Though the man's eyes were shrouded, his body was angled at them, expectant. He waited. There was no surprise to be taken advantage of, nor was there cover or a defensive position to claim.

A third scream sounded through the air, reverberating off the nearby buildings, filling the square with its sound, impressing the importance of movement. Ahsoka sprung, her charge direct, spirit-light streaming after in her in a turquoise streak as she swept forward. Rex moved in behind her, darting off to the left while she veered more to the right. There was one of him and two of them, and even without cover, they could try to circle, trap the man between them and their goal.

The figure in black remained still as they charged, and when he spoke, his voice was a cold, cruel sneer. "_You have no place here, Jedi_."

His hands, curling beside each other at waist-height, lifted, gestured casually, carelessly, at each of them in turn, and Rex found himself flung from off his feet. It wasn't the same way it felt when he was knocked from his feet by the pressure of a nearby explosion, when everything became unsteady and filled with a roar of noise. This was too quiet, too easy, a mere batting aside of an irritating gadfly.

The ground rushed up to meet him again, and there was an uncomfortable crunch of armor as he landed and rolled, this time more in control of his fall. For a moment, there was pain, or at least the memory of pain, until he reminded himself he was already dead and there was really nothing that could hurt him anymore. The sensation ceased abruptly as he rolled up onto his knees, then got his feet under him, pushing himself back off the ground and rushing back towards the fight.

If this strange dream-world was anything like the real world, the figure in black had just made a rather fatal mistake in turning his back on Rex in favor of the Jedi with him. Ahsoka had managed to keep her lightsabers in hand when she too was flung from her feet. The dark man had chosen to give Ahsoka all of his attention, and very little time. She was kneeling, green and yellow blades crossed before her defensively, as she struggled to block an onslaught of lightning, sparking from the man's white fingertips.

The crackling of electricity was not loud enough to mask the chilly, low laughter of his apparent victory.

He was well within range of a hand blaster. Rex fired.

The lightning sputtered out as the man staggered, half turning towards the unexpected onslaught from behind, white hands lifting as though to attack. Mid-turn, Rex caught a glimpse of the man's face, heavily shadowed; obscured, there were few details, but his eyes were visible, vivid even in the darkness of the hood, sickly yellow rimmed in raging red. Then they were gone again, hidden under the edge of the cowl and all that was visible of his face was the snarl twisting his mouth as he was forced back another step by the constant stream of blue blasterfire.

Suddenly, there were two blades sticking out his chest, one grass-green, the other sunny-yellow, and the black figure arched backward over them as Ahsoka stabbed him clear through, yanking the blades out a moment later. The man in black twisted, a burbling scream rising from his throat as he tried to turn back around towards Ahsoka in fury. That resulted in a fresh volley of blaster fire from Rex, and when he ceased for a moment, Ahsoka leapt into the pause, this time sweeping her emerald blade through the man's neck.

He howled, and came undone. The black robes curled in on themselves, flowing like pitch or ink, then splattered outward, disintegrating even as the droplets flew through the air towards Ahsoka, Rex, the ground, the wall of the shop nearby.

The sound of his shriek seemed to linger in the empty air, and then, it too faded away.

Ahsoka's lightsabers were still up in a defensive position, the small _shoto_ forward and ready to defend, while the longer blade, poised behind her, stood ready to attack. She glared at the place the dark figure disappeared, then looked to him, thoroughly disgusted. "I don't know _what_ that was, Rex, but I have never felt anything that…" she seemed to struggle for a moment, to come up with the right word, and failed. She finished simply but with a shudder and a scowl. "That _foul_ before."

He wasn't a Jedi, he couldn't feel darkness the way she could, but the menace about the man was pungent, and those eyes – unnatural. It was enough of a taste of the dark for him. He didn't envy Ahsoka her Jedi senses.

A fresh cry sounded from the shop, this time not in the high, pained pitch of a woman, but in the lower, helpless tones of a man.

The durasteel door of the shop was sealed shut, but that was little barrier for a lightsaber. Ahsoka cut through in a matter of moments, pulled away, gave him a nod as she poised herself at the entrance. He signaled back. _You first. I follow. _

She gave him a fierce grin, and he was reminded of a hundred other battles over their lives. A wave of her hand towards the door then away sucked the cut-out portion into the street.

And then they went through, and found themselves on a sea of sand.

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><p>This chapter started getting so long, I decided to split it in two. More adventures in Anakin's brain in the next chapter!<p>

~Queen


	18. A Figure in Black: Part 2

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>Chapter 17. A Figure in Black: Part 2<p>

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><p>The sand stretched for miles, uninterrupted by habitation or shade, and was filled only with the preternaturally harsh light from the twin suns, hanging heavily above. The dunes gave way in the distance to a blur of heat and to a cloudless wall of perfect blue above. Every direction was barren, vast, eerie in its emptiness.<p>

There was, though, a man in dark clothing, kneeling in the sand. He was a spot of shadow against the pale yellow of the grit, kneeling beside three headstones that jutted from the ground. Two of the graves that accompanied the markers were the worn mounds of older burials. The third though – the third was a hole, a rectangle of hollowed out dirt and packed sand. It was beside this gravesite that the General knelt, and there was a frail figure cradled in his arms. He rocked, almost imperceptibly, back and forth.

Senator Amidala – and it was the Senator, Rex felt sure, despite her ruined appearance – lay limp in his embrace, her large brown eyes staring upward sightlessly. No colors danced around her. Rex had seen many wounds in his brief life, of men torn apart, crushed, blasted through, burned. The injuries that patterned Senator Amidala's body were subtler traumas, swollen bruises, raw burns around her wrists and bare ankles, as though she'd been tied to something and beaten. She was far too thin; she'd been starved. Her usually opulent clothes were replaced by ragged brown robes, something more traditional to the poor of Tatooine than to the Naboo or Coruscanti.

Beside him, Ahsoka caught her breath, then took one slow step forward, before she broke into run, covering the distance between them and the graves in a moment, skidding to a halt and dropping onto her knees in the sand. Rex moved after her, hurrying, but scanning the sea of sand as he went. This place didn't feel right; none of it felt right, even if it was a dream and not a reality.

"Master," Ahsoka was saying, stricken as she looked between the Senator's dream-corpse and her Master's mourning. The General ignored her, still rocking back and forth as he cradled the Senator's body. "Anakin!" Ahsoka called again, placing her hands on his shoulders and shaking him firmly.

The rocking slowed, then ceased. The General's head lifted slowly, his gaze following until he was looking at Ahsoka, his eyes meeting hers. He mumbled, distantly and with unfocused eyes, "Snips?"

With that word, the Senator's body wavered, changed. The brown robes melted and swirled around her, the bruises and rope burns fading and reforming into different, more familiar injuries – still cradled in his arms, the gaping exit point of a blaster bolt exploded across her chest, red blood pooling along with it, crusting over into brown and staining the new clothing Senator Amidala wore; a replica of Ahsoka's Jedi clothing, her high-necked bodysuit. Bruises took up residence across the Senator's right arm and face, and smoke and char stained her skin. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes resting on her pale cheeks.

"She's dead," the General said, his voice broken and far too small and pained. "I couldn't save her. I couldn't save anyone. She's going to die."

Rex lowered his head and looked away, feeling intrusive and unsettled. Three graves. If Senator Amidala wore Ahsoka's clothing and bore her fatal injuries second, then who was it that had first been tortured? Who rested in the first grave? Rex frowned, liking this still less. This was too personal, too close to General Skywalker's thoughts and fears. There were few places a person could truly be alone; even though they were trying to help, he and Ahsoka did not belong inside General Skywalker's mind, his memories. He looked out over the sea of sand, and saw in the distance a figure in black.

It was small and distant, a tiny black figure standing on the crest of a dune and pinning the sand to the blue sky. He wavered like a mirage in the heat.

Rex blinked, and then the figure in black was _there_.

Despite the harsh light of the suns, the man still cast no shadow on the yellow sand, but instead seemed to absorb any brightness in favor of the consuming dark of his robe. His white hands, bony and thin, curled too innocently before him. When he spoke, his voice was a tight hiss of anger. "_I am not so easily defeated_."

And his spider-white hands lifted with fingertips sparking with blue lightning, and though Rex lifted his blasters to fight, he also wished he were in his own memories, in a place of his choosing, a place he could protect his friends, and a place where he felt _strong_.

Rex blinked, and then Tatooine was gone.

The night was cool and dark, and the coolness was startling after the unbroken heat of the planet of sand, just as the darkness was calming after the fierce light of the suns. The six moons of Shili hung in their familiar orbits above, silver or pink, golden or green, and their moonlight cast a soothing luminescence across the savannah. The waves of carmine and cream striped turu-grass flowed in the soft nighttime breeze, setting it to rippling around them, and the quiet murmur of rustling grass whispered quietly in the silence. Rex knew this place well; it was where he and Ahsoka returned to most frequently, the same place they came their first night as ghosts. The moons and the stars beyond them were just as he remembered them from that night, their positions as clear as memory, and there was no figure in black on the horizon to menace them here.

This place did not feel wrong. Somewhere down the months, Ahsoka's place of strength had become his as well. He tightened his grip on his blasters.

A low moan interrupted the quiet, and Rex turned in time to see the General pitch forward from where his knelt, his arms now empty. Ahsoka caught him around the shoulders and pushed him back up to sitting, keeping her hands firmly on his shoulders as she tried to peer into his face.

"Master?" she asked, tentatively, before casting a worried look at Rex. He nodded once and turned to the side, angling himself to keep Ahsoka and the General at the edge of his vision, while he watched and waited. It only took a few moments for the dark specter to find them before. Would it follow them here?

The dark, writhing morass of spirit-light around the General began to waver, and he groaned again, leaning against Ahsoka's supporting hands heavily. Where her vibrant blue-green came in contact with the blackness around him, it steamed, almost sizzling as it burned off. The steaming spread. Thin trails of grey smoke were rising up from his head, neck, shoulders and arms, curling up into the starry sky. His black spirit-light burbled around him, almost seeming to boil for several seconds, before cracks of white began to lace their way back through, stark but pure and bright.

This time when the General groaned, he lifted his head and pulled away from Ahsoka on his own. His shoulders and back slowly straightened, and when he spoke, his voice was strained but firm. "Snips?"

She broke into a smile, but it was then that the sky above them shuddered and screamed.

Rex tensed and turned away completely, scanning the area while Ahsoka ignited her green lightsaber and held it up defensively before herself and her Master.

Again, the sky rippled, and the stars and the moons struggled against some force they could not see; but their lights did not go out, nor did they lose any measure of their brightness or quiet strength. The roof of heaven shivered in the night, but like turu-grass in a storm, the stars and moons righted themselves after every strike, unbent and unbroken. Another set of blows pummeled the sky, shuddering from some impact beyond the dark dome of the night, but the memory of Shili and the savannah and the turu-grass remained steady and firm, calmly continuing despite what sounded like a war being waged just out of sight. Furious screams could be heard in the distance, a futile rage they could see only through the repeated throbs of the sky above them.

The General's question was sharp. "Ahsoka, what is going on?"

Her posture eased slightly as Rex turned back to them, but she still kept a wary eye on the sky. Rex, too, eased his position, but remained alert as another shrill scream sounded in the air, distant but still terrifying enough to make him wary.

General Skywalker, though, seemed to be back to himself; the maggoty appearance of his spirit-light was fading even as Rex watched, smoothing out into an obsidian shine, and the emptiness that defined him only a minute ago was filling with the kind of strength Rex usually saw when he looked at the man.

"You're dreaming, Master," Ahsoka told him, eyes darting from Anakin, to Rex, to the shivering sky. "A nightmare. Something was attacking you."

General Skywalker squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, rubbing his palms into them, as though to clear his sight from some bad vision. When he pulled his hands away from his face, he looked at Ahsoka again, searchingly, as though seeking some answer and not finding it. He turned then to Rex and gave him the same, searching look. At length he said, "I'm dreaming."

Another blow against the dome of the sky rang out, harder than the previous ones, as though the strike were more concentrated. It rang through the air like someone struck a very large drum; Rex grit his teeth against the unwelcome vibration. But like a very powerful deflector, the blow was shrugged off with only another shudder of the sky. Warily, Rex lowered his blasters by another inch. Whatever that creature was, it seemed unable to reach them. He breathed a long, slow breath from out his nose and felt his heart begin to slow a little. The turu-grass whispered around them, murmuring at the passing of a breath of air.

"Where are we?" Skywalker asked, his attention on the momentarily still sky. His face hardened, and he glanced around them. "This is turu-grass. Shili?"

"It's near where I killed my akul," Ahsoka replied, pressing her lips together and extinguishing her blade, though she kept it drawn and ready. "Rex and I have come back here a lot."

Another scream was partnered with another blast against the sky, and all three of them turned their attention heavenward for a long moment, until the rippling effect in the air grew still again. When Ahsoka looked at Rex again, it was a questioning look, the emerald undertones to her aura wavering curiously. They were still separate, still had their weapons, and the General was with them. They must still be in a dream rather than the waking world. But this was not a place the General knew; it was not one of his memories – this was Rex's memory, and it seemed the figure in black could not enter.

"The last time we saw that thing," Rex began, thinking of the sea and the graves, "it was starting to attack again. We weren't able to kill it, and we were too exposed. I brought us here." He tilted his head in Ahsoka's direction, looked at her wide eyes. "A place we can be strong."

Ahsoka blinked once, slowly, as her lips parted in surprise, then curved up in pleasure. The turquoise colors around her softened, whirled out of tense agitation into something more serene. Had her hand been in his, he suspected she would have swung it a little, tightened her fingers around his as a quiet expression of solidarity and happiness; this was a place of good memories for her, of passage into adulthood, of victory and survival, and a place she shared with him. It was now a place of comfort to him as well. The turu-grass and the open sky of Shili were as much home as they had now, and it belonged to both of them.

General Skywalker reached out with a hand and clasped the tip of one of the grass fronds, running a gloved thumb over the pebbled seeds at the end of the shaft, then released it. He closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at the two of them, sad but smiling. "It's good to see the two of you, even if it's only a dream."

Ahsoka's smile shifted from Rex onto General Skywalker, and Rex joined her with a smile of his own. It'd been months since they'd all been together. Thick in the middle of trouble, regrouping, with some unknown danger lurking, it seemed like things had never changed. Ahsoka placed a hand back onto his shoulder, and the General offered her a strained smile in return.

The short lull in the attacks ended then, and a fresh shudder ran through the night sky. One of the moons wobbled momentarily, the light around it focusing into a halation before softening again into its normal luminescence. Rex felt a mild ache start between his brows, and he shook his head once to clear it. He had no head to hurt anymore. There was no pain, anymore. The sensation subsided, but it worried him. That thing was trying to force its way in, and though it seemed they were safe enough inside his memory of Shili and home and Ahsoka, they were not invulnerable. "That thing's not going to give up," he told them flatly, eyeing the sky as another strike set it to shivering. "I think we're safe for now, but we can't stay here forever."

"We might be in your memory, Rex, but it's my dream, isn't it?" After receiving brief nods from both Rex and Ahsoka, the General stood, his aura hardening into something familiar, tenacious and tough. "Then it's my fight."

Ahsoka pushed herself to her feet beside him, still grinning. Rex chuckled once, and though no sound filled the air, she still shot him an arch look for finding her funny. Rex smirked a little behind his helmet before saying, "I take it we're taking the fight to him?"

They ignored another slam against the sky, shifting their positions to form a ring. General Skywalker nodded. "That's what I'm thinking. You two know more than me. What is he capable of?"

Since his last words were directed more towards Rex than Ahsoka, Rex straightened and reported. "Full capabilities are still unknown, sir. Appears to be an older man, shrouded in black. Can use a Jedi's Force push, and tends to shoot lightening out of his fingers when he's mad. Susceptible to blasters and lightsabers, but it doesn't seem to stop him long. Moves fast too – keep your eyes open and don't blink."

Ahsoka added, thoughtfully, "He reeks of the Dark Side, Master." She frowned a little, then added, "I think he might not be able to get in here because this place is a good memory." Ahsoka's lips quirked into a smirk and she cast a sly look at Rex, before she grew solemn again and turned back to Skywalker. "Whatever we do, I don't think we should go back to Tatooine."

At the mention of his homeworld, the General did not quite flinch, but his hands balled into clenched fists, and he bent his head just slightly, not quite meeting their eyes. His voice was rough and quiet when he admitted, "I've been having nightmares."

The obsidian aura around him pulsed a bit, the black nibbling away at the crystalline whiteness. "Sir," Rex said, "we all do, one time or another."

The General looked at him a long moment, then away, before lifting his head and strengthening his stance again. He nodded once. "Thanks, Rex." Skywalker sighed, eyes growing distant. "If our best battle ground is a good memory, then I know where to go."

And they were gone.

Wherever it was, it was beautiful. If the open plains of Shili were filled with the beauty of moonlight and starlight, then this place was filled with the light of the sun. Everything was filled with a golden glow, reflecting off the smooth marble floor, glancing off polished granite railings and walkways. The greatest light, though, came from the glittering surface of a great lake, the sun catching on the crests of thousands of little waves and dancing across the pale blue water in an endless eddy of silver-white and soft sapphire. Lush green mountains encircled the water and the great, elegant house they found themselves in. They stood in the center of a wide balcony overlooking the water, with great, shady trees lifting their branches up high enough to provide some escape from the brightness, if they so chose to escape the sun.

Its beauty was a far different sort than the wild savannah of Shili, but there was a peace here as well, the kind sculpted by sentient eyes and hands to work in accordance with the natural world around it. Rex heard Ahsoka ask, "What is this place?"

And the General answered, with a warmth in his tone that was rarely heard. "Varykino, Naboo."

"_And the origin of your weakness_."

The words were almost a cackle, and they broke through the air with cruel amusement. The figure in black stood still at the far end of the balcony, and no sunlight touched it. Still, even under the kinder sun of Naboo, the figure cast no more shadow than it did on Tatooine. The man's mouth was visible under the edge of his black cowl, and it was curled up in disgust.

The sound of three lightsabers igniting filled the air: the General's blue joining Ahsoka green and yellow. Rex moved two steps to the General's left while Ahsoka moved three to his right, all of them dropping into defensive poses.

The figure in black made no move. He stood, waited, his spider-thin hands still curling before him. Then he laughed once, a light, merciless chuckle. "_How_ _brave of you, to stand with your_ friends." He spat the final word in disgust. "_One moment of strength cannot stand against a lifetime of weakness. It is _you_ who seek _me, _young Skywalker_."

The General moved at the same moment the figure did, springing forward with his lighsaber singing around him in a perfect blue disk of light. But the man shrunk in on himself, edging backward into the shade of the trees and curling in smaller and smaller, growing more and more transparent, until he was nothing but a shadow and a thought, and when the blue blade sliced through the air, it met only a dim haze that was already dissipating.

Wind rushed through the verdant leaves of the trees, and the sound of lightsabers hummed in the air. Each of the three standing on the balcony turned their backs to each other, cautiously looking out over the balustrade, keeping watch for the dark figure. The sound of water grew loud in the silence, otherwise interrupted only by the sound of wind.

The General retracted his lightsaber first. "I don't sense him anymore."

Ahsoka said nothing for a moment, before admitting, "Neither do I." She did not extinguish her blades, though her pose eased slightly and she turned halfway back to the two men. Rex followed suit, keeping his blasters ready, but not extended or quite ready to shoot.

It was very quiet. The water sighed against the shore and the wind through the trees.

"Thank you. Both of you."

General Skywalker was looking at the both now, seemingly confident the threat was past.

The sound of two more lightsabers retracting filled the air, and Ahsoka straightened as she holstered her weapons. "Are you alright, Master?"

He did not respond immediately, but seemed to think for a long moment, casting a long look at his surroundings before answering with a slowly spreading smile. "Yeah. I think I am."

His confidence was, as always, catching. Ahsoka caught it first, smiling in return, and stepping in closer to Skywalker. Rex approached as well, though hung back slightly while Ahsoka paused before the General, then abruptly stepped forward and hugged him around the waist, causing the General to take a startled step backward. Skywalker laughed a little, placing a hand on Ahsoka's head, just between her montrals. "I think I'm okay now, Snips."

She laughed a little too, releasing him with a look of relief as she pulled her head away from his hand. Her turquoise aura fluttered around her fretfully. "I've been worried. _We've_ been worried. You haven't looked too good lately, Master."

The General seemed surprised, looking from Ahsoka to Rex, then back again. "Been keeping an eye on me, have you?"

"Someone's got to watch your back, sir," Rex told him, edging slightly closer to the other two and standing just behind Ahsoka.

Skywalker's response was not quite what Rex expected. Rather than a smile at the joke, he grew somber, and the guilty darkness around him began chewing at the light. "I didn't do much to watch yours, Rex."

Ahsoka stiffened, and her aura flickered in consternation and mild distress. Rex placed a hand on her shoulder, and thin golden strands of his own light filtered into hers, calming. She relaxed under his hand. "It was an honor serving with you, sir. Wouldn't have done a thing different. I did my duty, just as Ahsoka did hers. If anyone's at fault, it's whatever kriffing clanker that got in a couple lucky shots."

Skywalker had an expression of disbelief on his face, but it was warring with something Rex could not quite yet determine. Ahsoka placed a hand on top of the hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly, her spirit-light sluicing over his in a display of gratitude. "I'm glad I was your Padawan - _Skyguy_," she said, drawling the old nickname out a little bit, teasingly. "And you'll always be my Master. Even if you didn't listen to me enough."

He gave her a funny look, then arched an eyebrow. "Didn't listen to _you_? Who's the Master, here?"

Ahsoka just laughed, but after a moment, she grew a little more serious, her tone growing soft. "It wasn't your fault, Anakin."

The amusement on his face faded, and he looked away, out over the beautiful verandah. "I won't let it happen again."

Rex exchanged a brief look with Ahsoka. The image of him cradling the body of the Senator was too recent, too potent to ignore. Even without knowing who the person in the first grave was, it was apparent he was worried that Senator Amidala would follow in Ahsoka's fate, when she took on the Togruta's appearance in death.

Ahsoka reached out with both her hands, and took one of the General's in hers. Rex knew the gesture for what it was: an expression of her _confidence, faith, trust, support_. Skywalker seemed merely puzzled by the contact, but he gave her an attempt at a reassuring smile all the same.

"Padme is strong, Master." Ahsoka released his hand. "Don't be afraid for her."

Skywalker hesitated for a moment, then said, haltingly, "I lost my mother to Tatooine. I lost you to the war. I won't lose Padme, too." He breathed deeply and confessed, "We were married here."

It was not the shocking revelation Skywalker must have expected it to be. It was instead merely an explanation of the depth of the bond they already were aware of. Skywalker seemed, in that moment, afraid. It was one of the few times Rex had ever seen him with so much fear, and it was unsettling. "You haven't lost anyone, sir. I can't speak for your mother, but Ahsoka and I haven't ever been far away. We're here."

"And we're proud," Ahsoka added. "Padme loves you."

It was slow. The black spirit-light around him was prevalent every time Rex saw him, but in that moment, ever so slowly, the whiteness was growing, strengthening, and pushing back, breaking through the dark like sunlight from beyond storm clouds. Rex didn't know if Ahsoka picked up anything else from him in the Force, but she stepped forward again and gave him another hug, albeit a briefer one. When she pulled back, she looked up at him and smiled. "You were a great Master, Skyguy. Thank you."

Ahsoka withdrew, and they both looked at Rex. He tilted his head to the side. "I am _not_ hugging you." That brought out a couple grins, and the General extended a hand instead, which Rex clasped. "It was an honor, sir."

"It was, Captain," Anakin agreed, and Rex smiled at the implied compliment as he released the General's hand.

"We'll be close if you need us, Master," Ahsoka said as she took Rex's hand in hers, and he gripped it firmly in return. The familiarity of her small hand in his felt right.

The General seemed again to be more light than dark, and he still smiled though they said their farewells.

And once again, they were gone.

* * *

><p>The writhing blackness around Skywalker's sleeping form was gone. Some of the blackness lingered, but it was part of the healthy, obsidian tones that were always present around him. Ahsoka's right hand was still firmly in his, and her left was slowly drawing away from his forehead.<p>

She turned to him and asked, "Do you think he'll remember? Do you think it will last?"

Rex squeezed her hand, and let his blue-gold light flow into hers with reassurance. "We'll be close if he needs us."

And when she smiled at him, he felt light.

* * *

><p>In canon, Anakin has nightmares about Padme dying in childbirth, but at this point in the story, Anakin doesn't yet know she's pregnant (though he will soon) so having him dreaming about her dying that way seemed a bit odd to me. I'm working on the assumption he has nightmares for several weeks or months prior to Order 66, and then they turn into death-by-childbirth dreams after he finds out she's pregnant.<p>

Hope that makes sense!

~Queen


	19. Whispers and Repetitions

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>Which mannerly devotion shows in this;<br>For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch,  
>And palm to palm is holy palmers' kiss."<em>

_- William Shakespeare, "Romeo and Juliet"_

* * *

><p>Chapter 18. Whispers and Repetitions<p>

* * *

><p>The young woman stood tall and still beside the window.<p>

Her back was straight, her chin neither too low nor too high, but at a perfectly balanced angle that indicated both calm poise and alert preparedness. There was serenity on her face too, shadowed though it was by her hood and the dimness of the room. The lights were off, and illumination came from the blue glow of force fields around the window edges and from the sight of stars streaking by, flickering from the ship's movement through hyperspace. The brightness flowed over her, highlighting the edges of her clothing and off her cheeks, nose, and chin. The light of hyperspace was reflected in her blue eyes as she watched it stream by.

Ahsoka smiled a little, watching her. Barriss gained more and more of her Master's calm composure as the war passed and she aged; her serene expression, the relaxed set of her shoulders and the prim folding of her hands showed an utterly unperturbed young woman travelling the stars. But Barriss' spirit-light flickered around her in an apprehensive halo. The viridian color that encompassed her was remarkably similar in color to Ahsoka's, but complemented instead by a deep, subtle amethyst rather than a sparkling sapphire. There was _tension_ about her, a _nervousness_ tempered by _determination_ and _resolve_. Barriss was traveling on a mission that concerned her, but she was prepared to see it through, Ahsoka felt certain. Her hand tightened around Rex's, and she leaned closer to him. Barriss had not only gained Luminara's composure as she aged; she had gained height and maturity in her face. The thin, not quite gangly figure of her friend had turned willowy in these many months, and combined with that sense of composure, she seemed remarkably graceful, even standing still.

Ahsoka was happy for her, but perhaps a little jealous, too. How different would she look, now, had she continued to grow? Would her lekku have reached her waist yet? Would her montrals have gained curvature? Would the roundness in her face have given way to high cheekbones and a sharper chin? She sighed. It was pointless to wonder, now, and she wasn't here to think about what could have been. They were there for a reason.

Anakin was deep in a series of Outer Rim battles. They visited him in dreams when they could, but all too often the dreams were short and nonsensical, the ordinary dreams of an exhausted man with too much on his mind. The few nights where his dreams were clear enough to follow, they found themselves intruding in memories of Varykino, of lakes glittering in the sun and valleys full of wildflowers and grass, and of Padme looking ethereally beautiful, more Anakin's perception of her than her actual appearance. They were not dreams to be interrupted, and so Ahsoka and Rex took their leave.

It made him a poor candidate for their next speaking experiment. Both Rex and Ahsoka were unwilling to interrupt the pleasanter dreams, and both knew better than to try testing out their voices on a man in the middle of a firefight.

And so they found Barriss. It'd been nearly a month since the last time they'd dropped by to visit her, and Ahsoka was glad to see her friend.

"Come on," Ahsoka said, tugging Rex's hand a little as she stepped forward, stopping at an arm's length away from Barriss and peering around into her face.

Rex's tone was skeptical when he said, "I still don't see how this is any different from one of your mind tricks."

They were still working on the assumption that speaking worked similarly to seeing, that it was a matter of properly projecting themselves somehow into their target's range of perception. Trying to project their images to someone sleeping resulted in their arrival in that person's dreams. Gathering their spirit-light and projecting it resulted in a ghost-shape, a silvery specter someone could see but not hear.

Ahsoka didn't like it, but in the time since their first successful manifestation before Master Ti, she'd run over and over the Son's words. Those words gave Rex the clue they needed to figure out how to appear. Perhaps there was some other clue in his behavior that day in the interrogation room that would provide some hint as to how to speak, as well. He _whispered_ to Master Skywalker, _influenced_ him somehow.

She grit her teeth for a moment and closed her eyes, more in distaste for the Son than what they were about to attempt. She answered Rex. "It's completely different. A mind trick compels you to do something. You don't really have any choice, unless you're strong enough to resist it." She turned her attention back to Barriss' placid face. "This is just…a suggestion. It's the difference between being ordered to do something, and someone happening to mention an idea that might be good. There's choice involved. I'm not going to tell Barriss to do anything bad, even if it doesn't work the way I think. Either way, we'll have a better understanding."

A suggestion, just like how the Son _suggested_ Master Skywalker nearly Force-choke that prisoner to death. It wasn't quite speaking out loud, but it clearly had power. It wasn't unrelated to appearing in dreams either. She resisted a shiver and tried to modulate her spirit-light so that Rex wouldn't see her agitation. The figure in black that haunted Anakin's dream was so dark. So foul. Its presence was so similar to the Son, in so many ways, steeped so deeply with the Dark Side. Was the figure in Master Skywalker's dream the Son? They felt similar, but not identical, and somehow it seemed out of character for the Son to hide himself behind a cloak and cowl. Hiding did not fit his personality, but Ahsoka knew of no one else it could be. The Son had already expressed plenty of interest in her Master. It was possible.

Rex's concerned voice cut into her thoughts, and she felt his free hand settle on her shoulder. "Ahsoka." The weight of his palm was heavy, as always, and she glanced up at him. His aura was glistening, expanding to flicker over the edges of hers reassuringly, and as it so frequently did, the gesture steadied her. Rex already knew she was worried, and he knew she wouldn't do something that would risk Barriss. She felt so tired, suddenly, and she sighed, letting her shoulders slump. Rex's fingers tightened on her.

There was no time for her to let herself be depressed. She was letting herself get distracted, and there was work to be done. Barriss stood before her, calm and regal despite the _nervousness_ that infused her aura and her feelings. Ahsoka smiled a little, wanly. Between Rex's stoicism and Barriss's serenity, she must seem incredibly moody. She patted the hand on her shoulder with her free one, squeezing the fingers briefly in reassurance. "I'm okay, Rex. Thanks."

His spirit-light did not retreat from hers, and she chuckled. The more she worried about Master Skywalker, the more Rex worried about her. She didn't like worrying him, but it was nice to know he cared. The warming of her spirit-light must have indicated the uptick in her mood, because his grip eased from her shoulder, and his blue-gold luminosity retreated from hers.

They looked at Barriss, so serenely watching the stars speed by.

"What should we say?" Ahsoka asked him, pushing some cheer into her voice. "We need to confirm she can hear us, so it'd make the most sense if we could get her to react somehow."

If Rex had a solution for the problem, he was prevented from sharing it by the opening of the conference room doors, and a familiar figure stepping through. It was two weeks since they'd last checked in with Cody, and he seemed little different; there was a weariness to him that was present in all the veterans now, a dullness that hung around the edges of his luminescence and spoke of too many years of uninterrupted battle. He was worn, but it affected the color of his luminosity only a little; it was the color of polished amber, a blend of gold and pale orange that flowed together so entirely his aura seemed more one color than two, and the longer looked at, the darker and richer the colors became.

Barriss looked away from the window at his arrival and made a small curtsy of acknowledgement. "Commander."

The polite, formal gesture of recognition seemed to unsettle him slightly, and he paused just within the doorframe, the doors sliding shut behind him with an abrupt hiss. He settled for a small bow, as infinitesimal as Barriss' curtsy. "General."

Ahsoka choked a little, then gasped with delight. The last time they saw Barriss, she was studying in the Temple archives, up to her elbows in medical texts. It seemed odd for her to be away from the war to study, but if she were preparing for her trials, it would make sense. She laughed and beamed first at her friend, then up at Rex, whose lips were also drawn into a smile. "Jedi Knight Barriss Offee?" he asked, and she swung his hand a little bit in affirmative, then nudged him with her shoulder as her aurora colored umbra of light glowed fiercely with happiness. Barriss had passed her trials, clearly. This must be her first completely solo mission, without Luminara's oversight. It would certainly explain her case of nerves.

"General Kenobi sends his apologies, sir," Cody was continuing, stepping further into the conference room so that he could stand across from Barriss. His helmet was tucked neatly under his left arm, and as he approached the window, the light of the streaking stars seemed to flicker across the right side of his face, highlighting his dark hair. "The Jedi Council had to convene, and he's still with them on the holo. He didn't know when the session would complete."

"I understand, Commander, thank you. Are you here to brief me in his place?"

Cody straightened, the amber light around him tensing for a moment, then easing before he unclipped a small datapad from his belt and began to read. "Yes, sir. There have been forty more deaths within the last thirty-six hours. The water recyclers being loaded onto the transports have extra purification filters that should remove whatever toxin's been introduced into the water supply." Cody paused for a moment, and Barriss gave him a small nod, encouraging him to continue, though her eyes remained downcast. "If you are able, identify the contaminant and develop an anti-toxin to combat it, or find the person or persons responsible and neutralize the threat at its' source." Another nod from Barriss, and Cody continued, "Accompanying you will be three new clone medics, with ten new bacta tanks, five hundred liters of bacta with three purification processors, two crates of Spectacillin, six of glue stat, twenty liters Hypnocane with applicators, twenty new hyposprays…."

Rex made a disgruntled sound. "Sounds like she's providing medical assistance on the front line, somewhere."

As a Jedi Healer, Barriss providing medical support only made sense, so it was not too surprising she'd be headed somewhere in need of doctors. By the sound of things, Rex was right – Cody was still listing the medical supplies she'd be arriving with, and it was an impressive amount. Still, his arrival in the room provided an opportunity to try making themselves heard, however subtly. Though _whispering_ was different from real Force persuasion, Rex was right to note the resemblance, however superficial it was. If it worked the way she hoped, Barriss would choose to echo the words and topics Ahsoka picked out. Barriss asking questions of clarification about her mission wouldn't be considered unusual at all. The problem was, beyond knowing Barriss was on a mission providing medical supplies and support, Ahsoka had no information, and therefore couldn't ask for specifics from Cody.

"I think I'm going to try getting her to ask Cody's opinion on the mission," she told Rex after a moment, frowning a little. "It's too general, but at least it won't be off topic, and if we can figure out where she's going, we can try more pointed questions. Assuming it works."

Rex smiled at her, thinly. "At least we won't get sucked into one of their dreams."

Ahsoka chuckled and rolled her eyes. "Barriss probably dreams about studying, and Cody probably dreams about making the 212th more efficient or something."

Rex's smile broadened slightly; he knew it was only a half joke. Their friends were both terribly serious people, it was true, but it was only a little bit of who they were. Still, laughing that they dreamed of holotexts and line drills was better than thinking of them as having the kind of nightmares General Skywalker did.

Ahsoka took in a deep breath, then expelled it in a rush. "Okay. Here we go." She lifted a glowing, spectral hand and slowly reached out. The turquoise edges of her light oscillated upon reaching the plum-colored fringe of Barriss' aura, fluctuating as they came into contact.

Slowly, Ahsoka set her hand down on Barriss' shoulder. There was no reaction from the Mirialan, but the there was a flare of spirit-light where they came into contact, a whirlpool of blue, green and purple spiraling around each other before the blues merged and the green sank sleepily into the purple. Ahsoka let out a slow breath, and cast Rex a quick look. He gave her a tiny nod, encouraging her to proceed. Quietly, Ahsoka sent her the words, "_What do you think of the mission?_"

There was still no response from Barriss, who was still politely listening to Cody rattle off the names of various drugs and medical equipment. Cody was only half paying attention to Barriss, his eyes glued to the datapad in his hand. She felt a small, quick twitch from Rex, and she gave him another brief look before trying again, this time trying to project more firmly. "_You should ask him what he thinks of the mission. It's dangerous_."

Barriss' head tilted slightly to the side, and she blinked, her lips pursing slightly as her gaze grew somewhat sharper.

"…and a crate of Symoxin," Cody finished. The light from his datapad faded as he clipped it back to his utility belt. "We should be arriving within the hour, sir."

"I am ready, Commander, thank you."

From her tone, it was a dismissal, albeit a polite one. Ahsoka made a small frustrated sound, and tried again, this time more sharply. "_It's a dangerous mission, and Cody is a very experienced Commander. His opinion is valuable and you know it_."

A slightly puzzled look crossed Barriss' face then, and her brows drew together. She glanced to her right, looking just off to the side of Ahsoka's face and tilting her head as though she almost heard something. She gave it a small shake, and Ahsoka's hopes lifted a bit.

Cody was standing stiff and straight, and a little bit _uncertain_. "General Offee?"

Barriss' attention slid back onto the Commander, her expression a little curious. "I'm fine." Her eyes became distant for a moment, and the light around her expanded a bit, probing the air. Ahsoka, still with her hand on Barriss' shoulder, remained very still as a wave of the Force rippled through the room, searching. A moment later, the light around Barriss tightened, and the searching sensation ceased. Barriss sighed a little bit, lowering her head. "I suppose I am somewhat anxious." She paused again and looked at Cody thoughtfully.

Ahsoka nearly bounced on her feet. She squeezed Rex's hand, excited, and received a squeeze in return. "_Cody's opinion is valuable. He won't think you're asking something silly, either._ _Ask_."

Barriss' posture changed, and she straightened somewhat, the luminosity around her strengthening and taking on the deeper, more faceted hue of _decisiveness_. "If the ranks are so depleted, do you have any recommendations on the best method of supporting the ground troops, Commander?"

Ahsoka nearly whooped with triumph, but managed to stifle it before she accidentally projected anything out to Barriss. It wasn't precisely what she said to Barriss, but it was a much better worded and aware question along the same lines. It _worked_, though it took a bit of pushing. She laughed, exchanging a smile of victory with Rex, who was smirking wryly at her excitement.

The response was not immediate. Cody appeared thoughtful, both regarding Barriss and considering her question at once. "There's barely anyone left in the 182nd, anymore," he began grimly, his eyes sliding away from her and towards the stream of starlight streaking past the window. "The 501st has been there for a month. The supplies will help; they're needed." There was a brief pause, and the amber light around him fluctuated slightly, _sadly, _as he returned his focus to her. "Be visible. Let them see any men you help. They're alone out there. There's reports of repeated acklay attacks and more disease than just bad water. The men will do their job, but they'll be tired. Give them something to fight for. Everything else we can spare is going with you in the crates. General Secura needs all the help she can get. Felucia's running them all down."

"_Felucia_!" As Cody spoke, Ahsoka grew more and more concerned. The near decimation of an entire legion was frightening enough; the thought that Cody's best advice was to help morale indicated the world may be a lost cause, no matter how hard they tried; acklay and disease only served to make it more hostile, as though the planet itself was resisting them.

Three months ago, she and Rex sought out Master Secura, in their visitations. Though they were not close, Ahsoka remembered Master Secura well, from their time on Maridun. She was a strong, competent warrior, and Ahsoka enjoyed spending time, however briefly, with another female Jedi. They did find her on Felucia, as she struggled to hold her men together through a vicious firefight long enough to evacuate an unusually large number of sick and wounded. They had not stayed long, unable to help in any way, and distressed by the fact. Felucia was at a crossroads of hyperlanes, making it a key location to hold, and it seemed that as the war rolled on, the battles there grew even more bitter, and the planet itself, hungrier.

Felucia was a deathtrap, and Barriss was walking right into it.

Around her, her illumination whirled in sudden concern and abrupt fear. Not all of Ahsoka's memories of that place were bad; but it was hard not to think of Trandoshans and their stun nets. More importantly, though, was the desperation Master Secura fought with, defending so many men. Barriss would be a help, but if the situation on Felucia had deteriorated as Cody described, Barriss' chances for survival were low. Ahsoka lowered her head and tried not to cringe. Barriss couldn't end up like her, dead from some random shot on a battlefield nearly overrun. Barriss had to finish growing up, become a Master, take a Padawan, pass on what she learned.

The hand encompassing hers tightened, and she felt the familiar wash of Rex's _strength_ join with hers. She sighed, but accepted his encouragement, though could not entirely set aside her worries. "Are you alright?" he asked her, voice calm and quiet.

Then, the question came again, not quite an echo. "Are you alright?"

Her white brows furrowed slightly. The second set of words sounded slightly different. The tenor was the same, spoken in the same voice, but the inflection was different, the questioning tone lifting slightly higher the second time. She turned her head. The first voice was undoubtedly Rex. Though he was looking at her, his hand was on Cody's shoulder, the gold of his spirit-light disappearing into the equally burnished golden tones of the Commander. The second voice was Cody's, and it was directed at Barriss.

"I'm okay," Ahsoka replied to Rex, quietly. "Just worried."

"Yes," Barriss replied to Cody, quietly. "Only worried."

The familiar squeeze of Rex's hand around hers came again, accompanied by newer gesture; his thumb slid across the thin skin on the back of her hand, once, twice, gentle but firm. It was a motion of _reassurance_, serving to further bolster the sensation of _solidarity_ and _understanding_ coming from him. His luminosity was flowing around him, swift and smooth as a sunlit river, rushing down his left arm and into and up her right. Flecks of gold were appearing amid her blue-green. She returned it, letting her blue meet his blue, and her green meet his gold, in a small but intense display of color and light, encompassing the place where their palms met. The touch seemed to say, _You're not alone_.

Barriss' shoulder shifted under her left hand, just enough to distract Ahsoka from her focus on the slow, continuous blending of her light and Rex's. One long, viridian hand was lifting into the air, slowly and haltingly, fingers curling, stretching outward. Her fingertips hovered midair, uncertainly, and there was an expression of puzzlement on her face, as though she could not quite understand what her hand was doing there, hovering halfway between herself and the man standing just across from her. Her lips parted, as though to speak, but then closed again. Dark blue eyes darted up from her hand to Cody's wide-eyed face. The two stared at each other for a long moment.

Ahsoka turned her attention to Rex, then made a quick, intense gesture with her lekku towards Cody. Rex blinked, then grinned and said to his brother, "_Take it_."

And Cody did. Slowly, one gloved and gauntleted hand inched upward, until it came to a rest just under Barriss', palm up and open. There was only the smallest space between them, and then, it was gone, as Barriss' hand moved a little further down, and Cody's moved a little further up, and their hands met and fingertips slid across the other's wrists. Amber colored aura rolled into a helix of emerald and amethyst, swirling and mixing ever so slowly, _curious_ but _wary_ too. The lights lingered, flowed, merged, brightened into something intense.

To look at the four of them, both seen and unseen, would show a ring of many colors, gold flowing into blue flowing into green flowing into purple flowing into gold.

Ahsoka had never seen Rex so bright. It was almost hard to look at him, his face washing out as the gold and blue around him grew vibrant to the point of white. She removed her hand from Barriss' shoulder and reached out, into the light, and found his face to touch. He was still there. The hand not in hers came up to clasp her hand on his face. He squeezed it, reassuringly, with a glance towards Barriss and Cody. "We'll keep an eye on both of them, more."

Ahsoka smiled.

Their hands were still joined, Cody's larger one nearly overwhelming Barriss', her long fingertips tapering off at the pulse point of his wrist. They were both staring at their joined hands, as though neither had seen anything quite like olive skin laid against a black glove before. Their fingers moved, sliding back slightly, cupping each other fingers in their own, then sliding green between black fabric and back again, coming to rest with Barriss' hand lightly resting in Cody's.

A soft, sudden gasp from Barriss broke the reverie, and her hand twitched back an inch, pausing, then pulling away slightly further before pulling her hand tightly up against her chest. She held her loosely curled fist close, just beneath her collarbone. Her eyes were enormous. Cody's face reflected only astonishment, his hand still hanging midair as he gaped back at her. His hand fell back to his side like a stone, and his back straightened as he struggled for words. "Commander Offee…ah, General Offee, I –"

"Thank you." The interruption was soft, but clear enough between one confused stammer and the next. She was still almost hugging her hand to herself, and she breathed in and out a little, swift and delicate, as though trying not to show she was catching her breath. There was some formality injected into her next words. "I appreciate your concern, Commander."

It must have been enough for Cody to regain his composure, because his next words were steadier, and said with a growing sense of normalcy. "I hope your mission is successful, General Offee."

Ahsoka and Rex stared at the two of them, wide eyed, as they tried to reestablish themselves into their proper roles. But despite the propriety they were building back up, there was a small but significant change to each other their auras. Their colors whirled the same shades, but there was a fluttering, almost nervous richness, a fresher depth of color, that was not there a few minutes ago. There was also a thin, silvery strand running between each hand, as though they were not quite entirely detached from the other.

"Um, Rex?"

"Hm?"

"Did we just try to set up our friends?"

There was a two second pause before he started to chuckle.

Outside, the streaming light of hyperspace suddenly slammed into a wall of black, scattered with distant points of light. One large planet, though, slid into view, various shades of green with white clouds spiraling thickly across the surface. Two, smaller moons orbited it in the background; all were edged with the electric blue of sunlight striking off the atmosphere.

All four watched as the starship slid into a locked orbit around Felucia, the planet growing to dominate the wide window. Barriss said, quietly, "We're here."

Any amusement in the room faded into something more somber.

"General," Cody offered, also quietly, "May I escort you to the hangar?"

Barriss lingered several moments, looking up at the swirling clouds of Felucia before answering. Her purple and green luminosity flickered with _apprehension_. "That would be welcome, Commander."

She followed him a moment later, her gaze on the window and his gaze on her, until she finally turned away and fell into silent step beside him. The illumination that radiated out from each of them blended with that of the other as they walked to the door, and then out, and away.

"We'll have to keep an eye on both of them, more," Ahsoka said as the doors closed, echoing Rex's earlier words. She leaned ever so slightly against him, their arms pressed against each other.

Behind them, Felucia hung heavily against the black, beautiful and menacing.

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><p>I can't seem to resist writing CodyBarriss. They're too fun.

We hit the actual events of ROTS next chapter. Please look forward to it.

~Queen


	20. More By the Eye Than by the Hand: Part 1

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"<em>Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, for everyone can see and few can feel. <em>

_Everyone sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are."_

_Niccolo Machiavelli, "The Prince"_

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><p>Chapter 19. More By the Eye Than By the Hand: Part 1<p>

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><p>The schematic hovered in the air, translucent and electric blue.<p>

General Offee stood before it thoughtfully, her chin resting on her closed hand as it slowly rotated mid air. Clone troopers were working quickly nearby, clearly preparing for ground assault. The earth shuddered with the heavy steps of AT-TE walkers, moving through the dense fungal forest. It was nearing dusk, and the phosphorescent mosses and pitcher plants were beginning their evening glow, providing a cool, omnipresent display of lights. General Offee shook her head, then wiped at it irritably, struggling to ignore the humidity and the beads of sweat that were trickling down her forehead. Felucia was unbearably hot, and during the last two hours, it'd rained three times, in brief torrents of water. The entire place steamed, and the tarp stretched overhead did little beside provide shade. The oncoming night, at least, would be cooler.

"They may only have one shot at this," Ahsoka was saying skeptically, eying the hologram of the compound. "It's a pity Shu Mai's already made a run for it."

Peering forward, he ran a finger along the glowing lines that indicated the compound's exterior wall. Ahsoka was likely correct. They'd come in force, and unless the Separatists had their heads entirely shoved up their _shebs_, they'd see the column approaching from a kilometer out. Still, even with the Commerce Guild Presidente absent, it was a worthwhile target. "Claiming the compound will provide a base of operations and access to the Commerce Guild's computer systems. A victory either way, if they can take it. Just wish there was a way of letting them know for sure she's already gone."

Barriss started walking around the portable holoprojecter, examining the image from different angles, and Rex tugged Ahsoka a bit further from the image to stay out of her way. "Infiltration is probably their best bet," Ahsoka considered aloud, and Rex made a small sound of agreement, lifting a hand to point to the place where the compound backed up against a wall of rock.

"A small team, probably Generals Offee and Secura, could infiltrate from here," he gestured at the place the mountain met the wall, providing a way of going over the fence if they could climb it. "If they can get in and get to the control center for the droids, Bly can knock down the front door."

Judging by General Offee's interest in the upper portion of the schematic, she was thinking along similar lines, without any guidance from the two ghosts. One olive hand, gloved in emerald and amethyst spirit-light, reached out and traced upward from the curtain wall's base to the mountainside, then over, before returning to her chin. "The question is: which building controls the droids?" she murmured to herself.

Rex couldn't help but grin; Ahsoka laughed a little. The results of their attempts at _whispering_ over the past few weeks were encouraging, and though they often had to wait for the right opportunities, their tests on General Offee, Cody, General Secura, Bly and several scouts were all successful. If the scouts in the 501st suddenly began finding small oasisses of clear water in the jungle, or discovered Separatist traps before they were sprung, it was attributed to the skill of the troopers, the wisdom of the leaders, or merely to a well deserved change of luck.

Their consideration of the schematic was interrupted by the arrival of Lieutenant Galle, his grey-brown aura whirling around him agitatedly. Approaching nearly at a run from the set of tents standing on the other side of the clearing, he burst out, "General Offee, sir, we're having problems communicating with Coruscant. There's no response from the planet, everything seems to be jammed. It's not from our side."

Before anyone could further react, the holoprojector began to beep, and a small red light at its base to flash. General Offee turned and switched it on, and a moment later, the image of General Secura blurred into view, standing just slightly larger than life before them. Her expression was grim as she looked down at her audience. "I've received a message requesting aid from Master Yoda. Coruscant is under attack by General Grievous and a Separatist fleet."

While Rex found himself rooted in place, Ahsoka burst out with a disbelieving, "What!" upon hearing the news.

"Galle just reported to me communications are jammed," General Offee reported, the green and purple blur of light around her beginning to expand and brighten, twirling more swiftly around her as she began to assess the new development.

General Secura nodded, her lekku twitching in agitation behind her, the tips curling and uncurling. "The message was cut off at the end, and we've had no luck yet in reestablishing contact." Her head lowered and she grimaced, lekku curling up tightly at the ends. "We are too far and too mired in the forest to reach them in time to render aid. The best we can do is to take the compound, and see if we can slice into CIS frequencies to get a message through."

General Offee straightened, nodding once, briskly. "We are prepared, and I have a plan."

"I will arrive within the half hour. Secura out."

Her blue, translucent image blurred back out, and Rex looked down at Ahsoka. "There's not much more we can do here. They're in as good a situation as they can be."

Ahsoka sent a long, worried look towards General Offee, still poised over the holoprojector and frowning, but pressed her lips together into a firm line and nodded once, her lekku waving slowly from side to side, in what he'd come to recognize as an act of disappointment or dismay. When she looked back up at him, though, her face was set. "You're right." She cast another look at Barriss, this time one more of conviction. "The Force is with you, Barriss," she said firmly before she turned back to him. "Let's go. The Jedi High Council Chamber."

He summoned the image into his mind.

And then they were gone, and then they were there.

It wasn't the first time they'd visited the Council Chamber. Ahsoka thought it was a grand adventure, sneaking in and spying on what turned out to be an extraordinarily dull meeting about approving a request for funding for new star destroyers. Still, they'd spent nearly a half an hour in the Chamber, listening to General Windu expound on the importance of replacements for destroyers they'd lost. Rex agreed with the man, but it was still a dull thing to have to argue for. After the initial excitement of crashing a Council meeting, Ahsoka quickly grew bored, and spent most of her time overlooking the vast cityscape of Coruscant.

It was also an ideal place to observe a battle.

Against the morning sky, the city burned. Columns of smoke rose up from the streets of the ecumenopolis, piercing the sky alongside the great, vertical spacescrapers. Most were blacked out, elegant dark behemoths rising into the sunrise, beside rounder, squatting buildings, but here and there, lights were on in windows, like bright little eyes peering nervously at the battle raging around them. Ash drifted on the wind, fluttering like grey snow against the pink-orange wash of morning light provided by the rising sun. Flashes could be seen, frenetic strobe lights against the exterior walls of the buildings, indicating firefights and explosions on lower levels. Bursts of cobalt energy flickered across rooftops, clone troopers in dirty white targeting vulture droids and descending landing craft, while Republic fighters levitated out of the depths of the city to shoot skyward. Burning shrapnel fell from the sky.

The fire in the sky above crowned the battle in a monstrous, glittering halo. The dawn's light was overwhelmed by the looming black hulls of Separatist ships, riding low in the atmosphere, and the pale, ghost-grey hues of Republic star destroyers. Greasy black smoke warred with roiling lavender clouds, and diffused the light of staccato streaks of red, blue and green turbolaser fire, as exchanged by dogfighters on each side. To the west, still night-dark, the close stars of the Core burned brightly, visible still in spite of the detonating artillery.

It was a terrifying kind of beauty, since each burst was from the light of destruction.

Each were silent as they surveyed the battle, both the terrible beauty of it as well as the way in which it was conducted. There were no landing craft making it to the ground whole. LAATi were thudding their way through the smoke clogged air, troopers pouring blue energy into enemy fighters below. Though they were distant, perched so high up in the Jedi Council Chamber, the majority of the flashes were Republic blue, not Separatist red. Rex unclipped his helmet from his head and slipped it on with a single hand. The Republic was winning the ground battle. He tilted his head up. Ground battle or not, it was the battle in space that was most important. Whoever had the high ground was the one in control.

"How much do you want to bet," Ahsoka said, looking up at the sky with a wry grin, "that Master Skywalker is right smack in the middle of all that?"

Behind his helmet, he grinned. "Assuming he wasn't mired in the middle of a carnivorous fungal forest when this started? That's more like a sure thing than a bet."

She laughed once, briefly, and didn't have to say any more. They didn't frequently try to transport themselves to specific people – places were much easier to arrive at, and involved far less stumbling into people – but they'd done it before, when they didn't know where one of their friends were and still wanted to visit. He squeezed her hand once, quickly, and let her lead him away from the Council Chamber and to her Master.

It was an observation deck, with wide windows allowing a view of the battling fleets outside, but moreover it was a command center, with stations for tactical displays placed strategically near to the windows. A briefing table with chairs sat in the middle of it all, and at the rear of the room, sitting quite regally in a throne-like seat with the battle raging behind him, sat Chancellor Palpatine.

There was something very wrong about his spirit-light. A blend of bilious yellow and lurid red, it writhed rather than whirled, churning and smoky. Yellow bubbled up only to be devoured by scarlet, and the crimson would be sucked into a charybdis of gulping yellow. The aura steamed off him rather than glowed, as though unable to cast light, to illuminate. It was the most nauseating looking aura Rex had seen.

General Skywalker, as expected, was there, moving quickly down one of the two wide stairwells onto the deck, with General Kenobi at his side. They were tense, their luminosities flickering around them tight and fast, intense black-white and tranquil blue-green. Rex frowned at the strange sight of the aura surrounding the Chancellor, but moved towards the steps and the two Jedi, expecting Ahsoka to move along with him. But there was resistance when he lightly pulled on her arm, and she was rooted in place with a nauseated expression, her eyes scrunching up as she bent slightly forward, as though someone had struck her.

"Ahsoka?"

She winced and looked away, gritting out the words, "Bad feeling about this. It feels wrong. Bad. Really bad. _Dark_. So dark, Rex."

He cast an alarmed look towards the Jedi and the Chancellor, exchanging greetings at the throne Palpatine sat upon, but before he could make any further decision or movement, the turbolift doors behind them slid open, and out stepped the man behind the war, flanked by two hulking super battle droids: Count Dooku. The Sith lord was oblivious to the black looks he was receiving from the two ghosts so close by, stepping forward towards the observation deck's overhang with the kind of calm that utter confidence instilled. The only indication of any sense of concern was in the way his smoky spirit-light roiled around him, charcoal-grey gobbling at what may once have been a comforting sienna, now turned dull and muddy.

From beside him, Ahsoka grunted, "I guess that explains the Dark Side." She snarled his name. "Dooku."

Rather than take to the stairs, the Count leapt lightly up and over the railing, and in a rustle of cloth, landed easily on his feet on the main deck. Rex leaned closer to Ahsoka. "Are you able to get closer?"

She grimaced up at him, but straightened, curling her lip and wrinkling her nose. "It's like he's gotten even _more_ evil. This whole place reeks of the Dark Side. But yeah. Come on, let's see if we can help mess him up." The fierce grin that took over her face then made him smile in return. One Sith lord against two powerful Jedi. The odds were good; the Force was with them, surely. A victory here would be a decisive blow against the Separatists.

He pulled her along, closer to the oncoming fight, though eyed the battle droids, who, for the moment, seemed content to stand guard.

Dooku's deep voice carried through the room as he arrogantly said, "Your swords, please. We don't want to make a mess of things in front of the Chancellor."

In response, two blue blades were lit, humming to life in the hands of the Jedi.

Dooku's red blade ignited from the end of his lightsaber hilt in turn, and the three men blurred into action. The bright blades of their lightsabers sizzled through the air around them, searing it with each strike and releasing the sharp tang of ozone. As Skywalker and Kenobi pressed their united attacks, Dooku was instantly on the defensive, the quick, darting moves of his refined _Makashi_ swiftly turning aside the powerful blows of Skywalker's _Shien_ and the circular sweeps of Kenobi's _Soresu_. Even at a numerical disadvantage, the Count had years of experience on the two younger Jedi in battle to aid him. Each strike against him was neatly blocked.

The reached a short pause in the fight, just long enough for Anakin to say, "My powers have doubled since the last time we met, Count." His obsidian aura crackled around him, the edges catching the light, refracting it, and creating minute flashes of brilliance.

A wicked smile formed on Dooku's face, eyes gleaming as though pleased at the thought, his shadowy miasma slowly seeping forward as though to strike at the bright auras of the Jedi. "Good. Twice the pride, double the fall."

"How do we interfere?" Ahsoka asked as the fight rejoined. They hovered off to one side, close, but just out of reach, the tip of General Skywalker's lightsaber slicing through the two of them once, then twice on the way back for another blow.

They skirted behind the two Jedi, trying to come at them from a different angle. Getting close enough wasn't the problem. Having them stop moving forward, backward, and around long enough to have any effect was. Dooku was the best target; if they could get close enough, grab on, _whisper_ loudly enough to distract him, slow him, at a key moment, it would be all the Generals needed.

And then General Kenobi went flying through the air with a single thrust of Dooku's Force-enhanced push, and Ahsoka gasped as he landed with a heavy thud. Kenobi, though, wasn't down more than a second, and General Skywalker took advantage of the Count's momentary distraction from using the Force to redouble his efforts, pushing Dooku back even further and onto the steps leading to the turbolift platform. They followed, running up the stairs just as the battle droids reactivated and opened fire, but General Kenobi was already too close, redirecting their own shots back at them and knocking one off the stairs while slicing through the other with ease. They hurried, holding hands as they ran up the steps with General Kenobi hard on their heels, racing to get back to the duel between General Skywalker and Count Dooku, locked so close in fierce combat.

Dooku, though, was ready. A particularly vicious strike, and General Skywalker was knocked painfully aside. Ahsoka immediately jerked Rex along towards her Master in an effort to get close, to check on him. Rex, though, pulled back. "He's fine! Leave him – Kenobi!"

Ahsoka spun back towards him and towards the figures of Dooku and General Kenobi with a look of surprised horror on her face; General Kenobi was choking, hovering midair with his legs kicking and his sea-colored aura churning rapidly in distress. A thin tendril of brown smoke was extending from Dooku's fingers to wrap around General Kenobi's neck, the Jedi's spirit-light flashing frantically around it in sharp angles, as though trying to cut the noose away. Rex yanked her unceremoniously towards Dooku, and plunged his hand into the Sith's back, shouting the only words he could think of that could save the General from having his throat crushed: "_Drop him!_"

Dooku seemed happy enough to take the suggestion, but rather than simply let him fall into a heap, the Sith chose to fling General Kenobi across the room a second time, his body making a sickening metallic clatter as he slammed into the railing on the far side of the platform, spinning as he fell to the ground with a thump.

Dooku's hand shot out, flat and blade-like, and Rex whipped his head back to avoid the sickly aura encroaching on his. Shoving his hand into the man's back felt like he'd just stuck his arm up to his elbow in a pile of steaming bantha poodoo, a dense, sucking muck that was reluctant to let go in spite of the airy vapors rising from it. Ahsoka had her free hand around his upper arm, and was hauling back on him to aid in his escape that terrible sinking pull, grey-brown tendrils of miasma curling innocently up his arm but refusing to let go. Dooku, though, still had his hand in the air and a look of concentration on his face.

The platform buckled in on itself near to the place General Kenobi landed. The screech of metal on metal cut through the room as the structural supports tore themselves loose of the flooring and the two end sections of the platform ripped themselves out of the wall, crashing downward and crushing General Kenobi's lower half beneath them.

Ahsoka's shriek of "_No!_" was accompanied by an abrupt transport across the observation deck, and Rex found himself being compelled down to his knees as Ahsoka knelt beside General Kenobi, her aurora colored luminescence blending in with his sea-colored iridescence as she ran her free hand over him, grabbing at his arm, shoulder, neck, her fingers sinking helplessly into his skin.

They hadn't yet figured out if they could move objects. Were Ahsoka alive, it would only have taken her a moment's concentration and a wave of her hands to lift the ruined platform off his legs. Now, though, they were stuck desperately trying to assess the damage. His legs were buried beneath the metal; his hips were just above it, still whole. "He's still breathing," Ahsoka was saying, still running her hand over him. "His light's still steady, not trying to separate…."

And it was; it incased him in a frantically whirling halation, small and thin but with no loss of vibrancy. Rex looked further down the man's body and angled himself to see past Ahsoka. Though the platform was directly on top of General Kenobi's body, there were large, twisted bits of scrap beneath it as well, and the section was tilted unevenly over his body. Though Kenobi was likely going to be a mass of bruises and welts very soon, it seemed he wasn't crushed. The additional rubble under him was supporting enough of the platform section's weight to lessen the power of the impact, and hold the bulk of the platform up so that he wasn't pulverized beneath it.

Rex breathed out heavily. "Damn _lucky_ Jedi."

Beside him, Ahsoka sagged, letting out a harsh sigh. "Thank goodness."

The moment of relief was interrupted by the approaching sound of lightsabers scalding off each other, singing through the air only to meet in another skittering scream as they came into contact.

Dooku's smooth tones were strained from the battle. "You have hate, you have anger, but you don't _use_ them!"

The red and blue sabers clashed together again in an intense series of movements, frighteningly fast and brutal, each blow buzzing through the air before crashing into the other weapon with a sizzle. The battle though, was not limited to the two beams of light stabbing, slashing and blocking each other, but also to the auras around the two men. Dooku's grey and brown miasma coiled around him, clung to him, sent tendrils of smoke out towards General Skywalker, as though attempting to latch onto him. Skywalker's obsidian aura countered each vaporous curl, the sharp, diamond white edges slicing through Dooku's miasma like a knife. They battled within a corona of hazy dark colors, one trying to consume while the other to deflect, blue and red blades piercing it all.

Behind him, Ahsoka's voice was tense, wary, as she moved to stand. "Master…."

General Kenobi was unconscious, but alive. In their current state, there was nothing else that they could do for him. Skywalker, though, was still in the thick of the fight. The choice was obvious, as the duelists spun further up the deck and towards the captive Chancellor, watching them with eager curiosity as the space battle continued to rage behind him.

They were on their feet a moment later and moving forward, but it was in that moment that General Skywalker and Count Dooku became caught up in a particularly close exchange of blows, and, trapped within a deepening swirl of black light and grey smoke, there was a startled cry, and the sight of a curved lightsaber hilt flying forward and around. For just a brief moment, the red blade was gone, and there was only the blue, before the red reignited to cross the blue blade.

Dooku was on his knees, and there were no hands at the end of his shaking arms. The dark aura, so broad and powerful a moment ago, shrunk around him, pooling around his injuries, tightly, as though in an effort to heal the burned stumps. General Skywalker's diamond-hard illumination glittered coolly around him, sharp and angular, creeping down the lengths of the two blades and adding a strangely jagged edge to the otherwise cylindrical beams.

He'd won. General Skywalker had _won_. Beside him, Rex heard Ahsoka catch her breath, and he realized they'd both stopped moving, and were frozen only a few feet away from the victor, the defeated, and the man on the black throne.

And that man on the throne was laughing. It wasn't easy, to tear his eyes away from the sight of General Skywalker ending the war, but he did. Rex blinked, and turned his head, and saw the look of pure delight on the Chancellor's face, and the way the effluvium of his aura expanded, grew, rose and fell in a delighted display of serpentine yellow and red. "Good, Anakin. Good!" he chuckled, as though General Skywalker were a small child who had just done something very precious. And then his expression changed, and the tentacles of smoke around him abruptly writhed. "Kill him."

Rex twitched, hands jerking towards an absent pair of blasters.

The order was repeated, casually. "Kill him now."

He nearly let go of Ahsoka's hand, in an attempt to reach for a weapon that was not there, and her startled cry of, "Rex!" made him freeze. She yanked on his elbow with her free hand and hissed, "What are you _doing_?" while adjusting her grip so that it was firmer, tighter, within his. Her blue eyes were wide, astonished but a little frightened too.

He shook himself once, looking over the tableau unfolding before them. Count Dooku was at the General's mercy, and though there was a look of shock on his face, it was melting into something recognizable as grim acceptance. The aura around him was taking on a different hue, sparks of pale grey and rust brightening the murk of his spirit-light, giving it the look of a strange kind of nebula. He was preparing to die. Everything looked like it should; the General won, the Count lost, and the Chancellor was about to be freed. The war would be all but over, the Republic, victorious.

And yet something seemed terribly wrong.

Skywalker's voice was quiet, reluctant, but not without some trace of anticipation. "I shouldn't."

The Chancellor's next words were unnatural in their harshness, almost spit into the air. "Do it!"

Rex had no stomach to feel sick, but Ahsoka's firm grip on his hand and his arm kept him upright all the same as he wavered, distantly aware she was calling his name again. The Chancellor was the leader of the Republic and was to be respected and given obedience. General Skywalker was obligated as a defender of the Republic to defend and obey the Chancellor.

But Dooku was literally disarmed, defeated. Proper procedure was to arrest and detain him for trial. That was the law of the Republic. But the Chancellor _was_ the Republic. But the law was not the Chancellor's. Why would he order it then? It was _wrong_.

Ahsoka swung into view, her face showing panic and her beautiful aurora-light was spinning in agitation. Beyond her, he saw General Skywalker obey the command, neatly beheading Count Dooku with his own lightsaber, and for the second it took to run the blade through the Count's neck, Skywalker's aura exploded in a burst of pitch-black smoke, before coalescing back into its' usual, faceted obsidian sharpness.

Dooku's smoky aura peeled away from him, separating from his corpse and dispersing into the air.

A punch into the side of his helmet sent his view tilting to the side, and then Ahsoka was there, so very close, her face in his visor and so very worried. She was breathing hard, and her spirit-light was flying around her in near panic, integrating with his, which was strangely dull and lifeless as he looked down between the two of them. That wasn't right. Dullness usually meant sickness or instability, sadness or distress. It shouldn't be like that, not in the moment of their triumph. The mere thought of its wrongness, though, seemed to inject some energy into it, and the color deepened and took on a healthier luster. Ahsoka made a stifled cry, then he found his arms full of her, and her arms around his neck, squeezing hard enough to almost crush him through his armor while she scolded, "Don't you _ever_ do that again! I thought you were going to fade away!" She moved back abruptly, taking his helmet between her hands and looking at him through the slit of his visor, still breathing heavily and shaking him slightly as she demanded, "Rex, what _was_ that? Are you alright? What happened?"

He meant to speak clearly, but his first words were more groan than comprehensible. He tried again. "The Chancellor gave an order."

The worried expression on Ahsoka's face melted into bewilderment, and she looked behind her without releasing her grip on him to stare at the two still living men. Her arms slipped down from his helmet to his neck, then his shoulders, as he tried not to pitch forward into her as some of her physical support was withdrawn. Something was wrong. Rex placed his hands on her hips to help him stay balanced, and Ahsoka twisted back towards him. Her voice was very quiet and very firm when she said, "Rex, you're dead. You don't have to follow the Chancellor's orders anymore, okay? Something is really off about all this." Her hands tightened on his shoulders and she shook him once. "But we'll sort it out later, there's no time for a discussion right now. Ignore anything the Chancellor says." She shook him a second time, as though to drive home the point. "Understand?"

She made it sound so simple. Maybe it was. Skywalker was freeing the Chancellor from his bonds, and he was standing. A moment ago, the cloudy aura around him was so large, so intimidating. Now, though, it'd settled around him as if nothing had ever been strange at all, and Rex would have thought he'd imagined it, except for the way the Chancellor's aura remained void of any brightness and continued to coil around him, however docile it now seemed. The Chancellor was heading away from the throne-like chair, all business.

"And now we must leave, before more security droids arrive." General Skywalker trailed the Chancellor by a step, and they nearly walked through the two ghosts standing just off to the side of the throne's platform.

Rex straightened. Ahsoka was right; something was wrong about all of it, but with the fight over and the battle outside, and the way the ship occasionally jolted disturbingly underfoot, it was time to retreat, to escape, at least for the living. The battle was over, but they weren't safe yet. He took in a deep breath, and released Ahsoka's waist, and her hands slipped down his arms to clasp his wrists, and she then took his right hand in her left. "Are you going to make it?"

He didn't need air, but there was a reassurance in the activity, nonetheless. He breathed again, exhaling slowly. "Yes. Let's –"

"Anakin, there's no time." They paused for a moment at the crisp words, then turned towards the sound of the Chancellor's voice. He continued, "We must get off the ship before it's too late."

General Skywalker was at General Kenobi's side, sliding him out from beneath the rubble with a slight application of the Force against the debris, and a tug to pull Kenobi out. After a cursory examination, the General lifted his head and said, "He seems to be alright."

The Chancellor's next words cemented how unwise it would be, to listen to any orders he gave. "Leave him, or we'll never make it."

Ahsoka's indignant screech of, "What!" vocalized his own dismay. You don't leave brothers on the field. It was practically the first rule you learned. No one gets left behind. Not if it can be helped. Not if there's a chance. Kenobi was unconscious, not dying. Abandoning him was wrong, immoral. _Ignore anything the Chancellor says_. General Kenobi was not Count Dooku. There was no reason he should be left behind. Rex looked from the two Generals to the Chancellor, and could not help but feel anger. It was wrong. _Knowingly_ wrong.

He was dead. He'd given his life in the line of duty, and he was only beholden to himself, now. He fought because he wanted to protect those he cared about, to give them the lives he didn't have, not because he was ordered to. He was _free_.

The General seemed to agree. "His fate will be the same as ours."

And with General Kenobi around his shoulders, and a look of disapproval from the Chancellor, they ran.

* * *

><p>Well, I was thinking the Battle of Coruscant would be one chapter, but Rex apparently decided midway through that the chapter needed more of his own glorious self, and kind of took over. I hope you all don't mind more Rex. ;)<p>

I also hope this chapter turned out alright – I'm not usually a fan of reiterating scenes from canon (because you know how it turns out….) but it was needed for the story to progress, so here it is. Hopefully Rex and Ahsoka's point of view kept it fresh enough.

More Battle of Coruscant coming up next.

~Queen


	21. More By the Eye Than By the Hand: Part 2

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p><em>"Men are so simple and so much inclined to obey immediate needs<em>

_that a deceiver will never lack victims for his deceptions."  
>- Niccolo Machiavelli, "The Prince"<em>

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><p>Chapter 20. More By the Eye Than By the Hand: Part 2<p>

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><p>The <em>Invisible Hand<em> was enduring a brutal broadside of turbolaser fire and proton torpedoes from the Venator destroyer looming large in the nearby windows.

With each blast, the ship shook, and the two men running in front of the two ghosts staggered under the assault. General Skywalker in particular struggled to stay upright as the floor rocked beneath him, burdened as he was by the limp form of General Kenobi slung over his shoulders.

"It was unwise to bring him," the Chancellor managed between gulps of air as he ran. "If we run into droids, he'll be nothing but a burden."

Rex grimaced, staying in step with Ahsoka as they ran a few steps behind. Ahsoka snapped, "Yes, and that's why when we run into battle droids, Master will _put him down_ before he turns the tinnies to scrap."

A massive explosion bloomed close near the window, lighting up the hallway in a green flash before fading out again. General Skywalker's spirit-light was tense around him, and though Rex couldn't see his face from behind to read his expression, his aura indicated his displeasure, whirling rapidly in sharp, pointed angles. He said, "If we run into battle droids, I'll put him down. I'm _not_ leaving him."

It was somewhat of a relief to hear. There was no time to dwell on what happened with Dooku just yet, but defending General Kenobi and not leaving him behind sounded right, like the way the General should sound. He felt Ahsoka's hand squeeze his, and he pumped her long fingers once in his in return. She was pleased by the General's repeated declaration as well, and he let her know of his agreement.

The run through the ship was helping to clear his head. The familiarity of running was calming, and he and Ahsoka had taken enough tandem runs on Shili now that matching their strides and the swings of their linked hands came with thoughtless ease. The more the Chancellor attempted to get General Skywalker to leave General Kenobi behind, the easier it became to ignore what he was saying, to tell himself, "_You don't have to listen, you don't have to obey_," and to convince himself that General Skywalker's disobedience was not only acceptable, it was necessary. He'd learned long ago on Umbara that leaders were not always right; that they didn't always have the best interests of others in mind, that they could be selfish and even evil. General Skywalker was a good man, General Kenobi was a good man, and he'd follow either one of them willingly. He'd been taught, trained, to believe the Chancellor acted only for the benefit of the Republic. But could a man so selfish as to leave a helpless man behind be acting for anyone's good but his own?

A few more strides brought them to the end of the long corridor, and a trio of turbolifts. General Skywalker reached out to summon one, but there was no response. No doors opened, no keypads lit up. General Skywalker frowned at it. "Elevator's not working." He lifted his comm unit. "R2, activate elevator 3224."

The words were barely out of his mouth before the entire ship lurched suddenly forward, then began to tilt back. The doors to the turbolift began to slide open as a shower of sparks shot off the keypad, and General Skywalker and the Chancellor scrambled forward in an attempt to grab onto the opening as the _Invisible Hand_ suddenly went vertical. Skywalker pulled himself and General Kenobi into the shaft first, then extended a hand to the Chancellor and pulled him the rest of the way in as the floor became the wall.

Rex looked at his white booted feet, then Ahsoka's brown booted ones as they parted from the ground. There was no need for them to scramble. They began to hover midair, parallel to what was the floor, toes dangling loosely down. It wasn't the first time they'd floated. The second time they tried to visit General Koon, they found him in his starfighter, in a firefight, not too far from a gas giant. Another of the many reasons transporting directly to people was awkward. Still, it was good to know they could manage the vacuum of space, and could float themselves in various directions, even if neither particularly cared for the experience. It was fun for about five minutes before it became tedious and irritating. Too much like being in zero-G without a jetpack. Too little control. Ahsoka sighed, "Here we go again."

It was a bit like swimming. They kicked their feet, and used their free hands to reach forward to pull themselves through the ocean of air. Slowly, they began to skim forward, up through the elevator entrance, and into the turbolift shaft. General Skywalker and the Chancellor were already back on their feet and running, and they took a moment to regain their footing as well, breaking back into a synchronous run behind the three living men. The elevator shaft ran the length of the ship; if they could find the right doors, they could get themselves close to the hangar bay. The problem was, the ship itself could be torn apart any moment, or if the bridge was still staffed, they could correct their trajectory, throwing them all off balance again. It would be a long way down if the shaft went back to vertical. So they ran, staying close to the turbolift doors, which were almost all open now from some serendipitous mass malfunction.

Ahsoka noticed it first. "We're starting to tilt again," she warned, and Rex felt the shaft under his feet start to move forward. The ship was righting itself, and their feet were once more leaving the ground. Unfortunately, so were the feet of General Skywalker and the Chancellor, who were slipping forward, then falling backward and sliding down the shaft as it went from horizontal, to diagonal, and then back to vertical. Ahsoka was somewhat better at maneuvering herself in the zero-gravity feel of floating, and she was angling herself through the air, pulling his bulkier form along with her. Several sharp kicks, and they propelled themselves through the air of the shaft down to the trio of living beings, now dangling precariously from some cables General Skywalker managed to grab. The Chancellor was clinging to the General's leg, trying and failing not to kick or swing too much. They slowed themselves as they pulled even with the group, pressing themselves against the wall.

As far as he could see, there wasn't much they could do from here. There was an opening about twenty meters below them, if the General could control their descent enough to reach it safely. He should have a grappling cable on him. But it was likely the General knew already, how close the next doors were; they were at regular intervals, and he was trying to angle himself so he could see past the bulk of General Kenobi and the Chancellor. _Whispering_ the plan to him was unnecessary. The trick would be not letting go of Kenobi or the Chancellor and compensating for their added weight.

Ahsoka, though, seemed to be a step ahead of him. "Sorry, Master Kenobi, but naptime's over," she announced as she reached past him and grabbed hold of General Kenobi's shoulder, nearly bellowing, "_Wake up!_"

She didn't have to repeat herself. General Kenobi's eyes opened blearily, blinked once, then seemed to take in the unusual position he was in, hanging sideways midair. He flailed upward, towards General Skywalker, grabbing on and trying to right himself while Ahsoka leaned back with a gratified grin on her face. "If Master Kenobi's not unconscious, they've got a much better chance of getting out the next set of doors."

General Kenobi was still trying to orient himself, looking around and taking in the situation. "Did I miss something?" he asked, starting to reach out towards the set of cables General Skywalker was holding on to, shifting his weight off to make Skywalker's burden lighter.

The clanking sound of heavy machinery turned the attention of them all upwards. The elevator car had reactivated, and was now dropping down the shaft at an alarming rate.

"R2, R2, shut down the elevator!" General Skywalker was saying into his comm, but it was rushing down too fast.

"Too late, jump!" General Kenobi ordered, releasing his grip on the cables a moment before General Skywalker did, and they all went sliding down the wall, the Chancellor losing his grip on Skywalker momentarily while they plunged downward, their various spirit lights streaking after them like multi-colored comets. The two Jedi had their hooks out, and were throwing them at a passing structural support beam, just as the Chancellor got his arms back around General Skywalker's legs.

Swimming downward, Rex and Ahsoka watched as the lines drew short, then taut, and snapped them through the open turbolift doors. Rex grunted in displeasure as the elevator car itself rushed through him, floor then ceiling, and down the rest of the shaft, shrinking in the distance. Walking through people was odd. Having large, hurtling metal objects fly through him felt bizarre. They felt cold, usually, and dense. "You okay, Ahsoka?" he asked as he felt her shake it off, shoulders twitching and causing her lekku to swing.

"Yeah. Just so weird when that happens. Come on, they're already on the move." She tilted herself downward and he followed, reaching forward with his free arm and kicking with his legs until they were able to swing themselves through the opening. Skywalker, Kenobi, and the Chancellor were already on their feet and moving again. "If the ship righted itself – "

"There's still Seps on board. Do we scout ahead?"

She nodded as they fell into a fresh run, her strides lengthening as his shortened so that they would match. Their feet fell silently against the floor. "I think we should. Master Kenobi's hiding it well, but he's hurt from that fall he took, and the Chancellor's an old man. He's limping. We get ahead, determine the clearest way to the hangar and steer them in the right – kriff!"

Rex looked up to see what caught her attention, and he swore once as well. They halted. Silvery white ray shields were now idly twirling around the two Jedi and the Chancellor. Rex looked up and down the hallway. The ray shields were small, specific. They must have done a bioscan and locked on their position, which meant any number of battle droids left on the ship would be on their way to pick them up. Question was, what now? A glance at the Jedi showed they didn't know either; Skywalker and Kenobi were debating, the Chancellor watching them.

"They're going to get taken," Rex said aloud, and Ahsoka looked up at him with a frown. He shook his head. "Even if Skywalker's R2 unit gets here to turn the shields off, the clankers have their position and will be on the way. There'll be a firefight soon. Assuming the Seps don't shoot them outright, best thing to do is go along and wait for a better opportunity."

A set of doors opened on the side of the hallway, and R2 came screaming in, careening out of control as he shot across the hall and slammed into the opposing doorway. That set of doors opened a second later, and several SBD's clomped their way out. R2 zapped the one that started waving a blaster at his dome, and earned a droid-flattening kick in response.

Ahsoka sighed and cast a brief glance back towards the Jedi before meeting his gaze. "Let's see if we can do anything to ensure a better opportunity."

Rex gave her a nod, and a squeeze of the hand, which she returned. Two of the B1's were moving into the edge of the ray shields with binders in their hands, and one SBD came to stand directly behind the Chancellor, its' blaster pointed directly at the back of his head.

"Cooperate," one of the B1's said, "or the Chancellor gets it." The ray shields dropped, and the B1's moved in. Generals Skywalker and Kenobi let the droids pull their lightsabers from their hands, as more B1's moved in with their blasters targeting the Chancellor. Within moments, all three were bound with their hands behind their backs, and were being urged forward, still under heavy guard.

"Looks like we're going to go have a chat with Grievous," Ahsoka muttered as they fell into step behind the procession.

The two Jedi and the Chancellor were marched up the ship, their footfalls muted compared to the heavy, metallic tread of the droids around them. They would do what they could to create an opportunity for the Generals, but their options were limited. Grievous, despite his appearance, was a Kaleesh, and a cyborg, not a droid. They should be able to affect him, if they grabbed on, but it was hard to say how much of his mechanical body would interfere with their tricks, or if it would at all. Even if there were some sentient Neimoidians piloting the craft or serving as officers, the majority of the ship's staff compliment would still be droids, with no brains to influence. Their options were few.

Rex cast a brief glance at Ahsoka. Her expression was grim, and her blue-green aura was tight and sharp around her. She knew the situation didn't look good either.

A final set of doors slid open before the group, revealing the bridge of the _Invisible Hand_. Droids stood at their stations, and a Neimodian sat in the commander's seat, half twisting around to see their entrance, as well as a handful of others at key command consoles. General Grievous made a long, satisfied sound as they entered, stepping forward to greet the new arrivals. Beyond the great viewports of the bridge, the two fleets, both Separatist and Republic, continued to tear at each other. A pair of starfighters rushed close by the windows, with a trio of vulture droids right behind them, turbolasers firing. In the distance, larger ships exchanged volleys of proton torpedoes, and there were several destroyers from both sides listing with smoke pouring out of the burning, gaping wounds on their bows. Others were unleashing more dogfighters to enter the fray, the small ships' darting movements swift and precise as they moved through the field of battle. Dominating the bottom of the windows was the glittering curve of Coruscant, large swathes of the vast metropolis blacked out instead of bright.

Rex tugged Ahsoka slightly out of the way. The upper deck of the bridge was crowded with the captives and their escort, and Grievous himself was an imposing figure. There were too many in the room as it was; two Magna Guards, nearly as large as Grievous himself, were stationed around the bridge, electrostaffs already crackling with lavender electricity at each end. They were ready for a fight, even though the Jedi were disarmed. Grievous wasn't taking chances. The exchange would be brief, and if they were lucky, there would be a fight rather than an execution next.

"Ah, yes, the Negotiator. General Kenobi, we've been waiting for you," Grievous was saying, sounding smug. "It wasn't much of a rescue."

Ahsoka asked, "Where?" as she scanned the room. The Neimodian commander was worthless, unarmed, and looking intimidated simply by the fact Grievous, two menacing Magnas, and two Jedi were on his bridge. It wouldn't take much to panic the man, but he was useless otherwise, as were his subordinates. The Magnas and the droids were immune to any ghostly influencing, and that left Grievous himself, wreathed in a very peculiar looking, mottled aura of navy blue and scarlet. It was strangely splotchy, not quite the smoky strangeness of Dooku or the Chancellor, but it lacked the usual glow that was normally found in sentient beings. It crept over him in eddying waves, rippling down towards his guts and then burbling back up over his head, avoiding his mechanical limbs entirely in favor of clinging to the more natural parts of his body. Though less eerie than the smoke, it was equally abnormal looking.

"And Anakin Skywalker," Grievous continued. "I was expecting someone with your reputation to be a little…older."

Ahsoka spared a moment to snort, "Like he hasn't seen Master in holos before," as they continued to search the room for some advantage, slowly creeping up behind Grievous. Nothing in the room seemed to stand out. The best weapons were the lightsabers Grievous was reaching for from the B1 carrying them. They needed a diversion to get their hands back on the weapons. In the small space, it wouldn't take much to turn the droids and the Neimodians into disorganized mini-mob.

General Skywalker returned, dryly, "General Grievous. You're shorter than I expected."

Grievous snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Jedi scum."

General Kenobi sighed. "We have a job to do, Anakin, try not to upset him."

Beside him, Ahsoka stopped moving, and was focused on R2, suddenly. Then she grinned and said, "R2 is standing right next to the droids."

As Grievous droned on, "Your lightsabers will make a fine addition to my collection," Rex looked at the astromech, then up at General Skywalker, who was giving the little droid a surreptitious glance. Rex smirked. They couldn't affect droids, but the astromech had more than once painfully zapped larger droids with the welding tools it would usually use to make repairs. If the astromech suddenly went full out, it would give Kenobi and Skywalker the distraction they'd need.

General Kenobi's voice was smooth as he said, "Not this time. And this time, you won't escape."

"Rex, I think we should back up," Ahsoka said as she began pulling him away from Grievous. He complied, just as General Skywalker said, "R2," and the astromech opened up with every tool in its' kit, shooting thin blue streams of energy into the nearest pair of B1's with a mechanized shriek of vengeance for its earlier mistreatment. The B1's, in turn, flailed desperately as their power regulation matrixes were abruptly overloaded by the electrical surge and they began to smoke.

Predictably, the room exploded into chaos. General Kenobi moved first, his lightsaber flying out of Grievous' cloak and into his hands. Ignited, it severed the binders on his wrists, and a second later, General Skywalker's hands were also free and summoning his weapon. Grievous was shouting, "Crush them! Make them suffer!" as the Magnas moved in, their electrostaffs crackling in arcs around them as they went on the offense.

A ricochet blast went flying through Rex's neck, and he tried not to choke as the burning sensation sliced through his throat. A moment later, General Kenobi went barreling through the left half of his body as he moved to engage one of the Magna Guards. Ahsoka was pulling him closer, wedging them into the back curve of the command consoles ringing the center of the room. It was as out of the way as they could get without floating up towards the dome of the ceiling. Grievous was shouting again, shoving B1's out of his way, and General Kenobi was battling a Magna that didn't seem to realize it had lost its' head. General Skywalker was dueling the other Magna, keeping himself between the droids and the Chancellor, now backing up into the hallway and ducking out the doors. R2 was whistling shrilly in a corner, tools out and ready to electrocute any other droids that got too close.

Into the clamor of shouting, blasterfire, crackling electricity, and humming lightsabers, came a quiet laugh. If he wasn't standing right next to her, he wouldn't have heard it, but pressed together as they were, Rex couldn't help but hear the amused chuckle. General Kenobi and Skywalker had both finished with their Magna Guards, and were now polishing several more of the droids, closing in on Grievous from either side. He took a moment to look over at his companion, who was watching the end of the fight with a smile.

"What?" he asked.

Ahsoka glanced at him, still grinning, before lifting a finger and placing it on her chin thoughtfully. "You know, I forget. Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi really _can_ fight without us." Her grin grew mischievous before her attention slid back to the confrontation now building to a head as the two Jedi prepared to face the Separatist General, amid a great deal of destruction throughout the bridge.

Rex couldn't help but laugh, once.

The Generals had Grievous pinned between them, and the cyborg picked up one of the destroyed Magna Guards' electrostaffs, brandishing it angrily as he snarled, "You lose, General Kenobi!"

Rex realized what was happening only a second before it occurred. Grievous wasn't aiming at either of the Jedi; he was turning to face the window while the Generals were preparing to strike. There was no time to give them a warning. He grabbed Ahsoka, who made a startled yelp at the abrupt handling, and dropped down, hanging on to one of the supports behind the computer console.

The viewport shattered then, under the brutal application of the electromagnetic staff's sharpened tip. Rex gripped the support as hard as he could, until his left hand began to ache from the tightness of his hold. Ahsoka scrambled upward, wrapping one arm around his neck, then the other, and he wrapped his free arm around her in turn, just under her arms. When their feet left the ground this time, it wasn't because they were floating. The vacuum of space was sucking debris out from the bridge, and anyone who wasn't hanging on tight enough.

A few long seconds later, loud, thunking noises filled the room, and the suction stopped as gravity reestablished itself and emergency barricades slid into place. They dropped back onto the ground with a groan. Rex pushed himself up onto an elbow, rolling partially off Ahsoka while she reached out with her left hand to take his right again. He sat up, and pulled her up along with him.

They weren't alone on the bridge. Chancellor Palpatine was nearest, hanging on to the back of the commander's chair, and General Skywalker and Kenobi were straightening from where they'd latched themselves onto the computer consoles. Along with the Jedi, the Chancellor, and the ghosts, several B1's remained, along with the Neimodian commander and a handful of other officers who'd taken cover under their consoles. As the two Jedi stood, the remaining Separatist staff began to run, Skywalker and Kenobi cutting down as many of the droids as possible as they tried to escape.

Rex pushed himself to his feet, then pulled Ahsoka up onto hers. The navigation console was blaring warning alerts, as were several other command stations around the bridge. With the destruction of the last of the droids, the Jedi were moving back to the consoles and their flashing displays.

"All the escape pods have been launched," General Skywalker was saying as R2 began rolling forward towards the console to plug in.

Rex and Ahsoka exchanged glances. "Go after Grievous?" she asked, though without any enthusiasm. It was an entirely practical thing to do, to follow the Separatist Commander and find out where he was headed. But the Generals, with no escape pods, were trapped on the ship.

"Grievous," General Kenobi said, irritably, before turning to General Skywalker. "Can you fly a cruiser like this?"

In response to Ahsoka's question, Rex shook his head minutely. They couldn't leave. Not in a situation like this. "I think we need to sit through another one of the General's special landings."

Ahsoka's worried expression turned into a smile, just as Skywalker announced, "Strap yourselves in."

As the Generals took stations at two of the command consoles, R2 plugged himself into the ship's computer access port. Chancellor Palpatine began buckling himself into the console chair beside General Skywalker's, gripping the armrests as though that alone would keep him from flying out of his seat. Ahsoka and Rex wedged themselves into the console beside General Kenobi, Ahsoka taking the chair while Rex braced himself between Ahsoka's seat and the protrusion of console that separated their station from the next, empty one.

The _Invisible Hand_ shook violently as its speed began to increase, and the burning orange glow of an uncontrolled descent coursed over the hull. Flames seemed to flicker at the edge of the main viewport, one of the few not blown out in Grievous' escape. As they entered the upper atmosphere with a sonic boom, the entire ship bucked ferociously, and Rex staggered forward into the upper portion of the console. Ahsoka wrapped her free arm around his, pulling him down closer to her, and he knelt, gripping her hand as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders to keep him steady, angling her head so that she avoided the winged flare of his pauldron.

"We lost something," General Skywalker announced wryly, casting brief look behind him.

General Kenobi returned, "Not to worry, we are still flying _half_ a ship."

"Which, as we all know, is better than no ship at all," Ahsoka muttered as another shudder coursed through the ship, and the viewport filled with the fire of reentry. The turbulence caused by the atmosphere caused bits of loose debris to shake themselves off the ship, and chunks of the hull began to shear away, flying past as the _Invisible Hand_ plunged towards the planet.

"We're in the atmosphere," General Kenobi announced.

"Grab that," General Skywalker ordered, pointing to a series of control levers in front of Kenobi. "Keep us level."

The ship's convulsions grew worse as they continued to pick up speed, and Ahsoka's grip around his shoulders tightened even as she clutched at the arm of her chair. Rex wrapped one arm around her shoulders in return, and braced himself with a foot and a hand against the console's protrusion. It was as firmly in place as they could manage, without being able to belt themselves in. Even if they were thrown out of their spot on the console, hanging on to each other was even more important. Rex had no intention of fading away into the Force at this point, and he needed to keep a grip on Ahsoka to maintain his presence. So he braced himself, held her, and let her hold him in return.

"Steady," General Kenobi's voice warned, but in his usual calm tone. "Fire ships on the left and right."

The familiar voice of a clone came over the communication system, crackling with static but recognizable. "We'll take you in."

"Copy that," General Kenobi returned. "Landing strip, straight ahead."

Though they'd lost some velocity, they'd also lost a great deal of altitude, and the vast landing strips of the Coruscant shipyards were approaching far too fast. Spacescrapers were streaking by in spindly blurs, the blue light of a morning sky rushing past between them. The fire of atmospheric reentry had given way to the streaming smoke of the dying engines, and the viewport was streaked with grey smog, clearing now and again to show more buildings rushing by at dangerous speeds. Air rushed over what remained of the nose of the ship, curving around its contours and slicing through the billowing smoke. The stench of burning metal filled the air.

They were almost to the landing strip. Its grey length stretched out for another kilometer before them, looming up from below. "Hang on!" Rex shouted at Ahsoka, pulling her tighter against his side as the first jolt of landing sent them bouncing back upward, then down again, harder. Deafening crunching, squealing metal sounds came up from below, and the floor trembled beneath him. The ship bucked again, slowing rapidly as its belly scraped the pavement. Another jolt sent them rocking forward, the Jedi and the Chancellor jerking against their seat restraints, Ahsoka pitching forward into Rex, who slammed into the computer console in front of them.

The ship continued to shudder for several more moments, and then was still.

The curve of a striped montral was filling his view, when he opened his eyes again. Ahsoka was half sprawled across his lap, left arm up over his head at an awkward angle, and her right arm clamped around his left like a vice. Her head was tucked into his shoulder, much like his was tucked into hers, and she was breathing hard in the moments before she let out a low groan. The montral moved from his view, and was replaced by her face, her white brows knit and her blue eyes concerned. Her turquoise luminosity was whirling slowly, caressing the edges of his. "You okay?"

Rex took a moment to groan as well, letting his head fall back. Nothing hurt, not really, not like it would if he had a real body, but he still felt pretty awful from the bumpy ride. "Yeah."

From next to them, General Kenobi sighed, "Another happy landing."

Ahsoka relaxed, leaning back against the curve of the console, and released his arm, slipping her right hand back into his left one. "Anything you can walk away from," she added to Kenobi's statement as she closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the back of the computers in relief.

She was still sprawled over his lap, but in that moment, Rex found he didn't particularly care. Her hand was small and warm within his. He closed his eyes too, joining her in a breather as the sounds of the Generals unfastening themselves and standing filled the room.

The Generals survived. Dooku was dead. The Republic was still intact. The end of the war was in sight. That was what mattered.

The bilious yellow and baleful red smoke-aura of the Chancellor still writhed pleasantly around him.

For now, the rest of his worries could wait.

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><p>Phew, it's done! Like the last chapter, I hope that turned out okay. I don't usually like repeating scenes directly out of canon, because we all know the end result, so hopefully Rex's point of view kept things interesting.<p>

Also, FYI, if you didn't see the update, _Smile_ is back on active status! Go enjoy something silly and fun. Go. Now. Shoo. ;)

~Queen


	22. The Happiest Moment

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>Chapter 21. The Happiest Moment<p>

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><p>In the hours since their landing, Coruscant had begun to heal.<p>

Ahsoka pressed faintly luminescent fingertips against the transparasteel window of their transport, watching as the city moved by. The trip from the medicenter to the Senatorial building revealed the extent of the damage caused by the attempted Separatist invasion. Emergency vehicles were rushing through the skylanes, sirens wailing as they moved either towards medical centers or towards points of destruction. Columns of smoke still rose up into the sky, but they were thinner now than they were at dawn, as fire ships doused their sources with tons of water or dry chemical powder. Craters scarred the landscape, evidence of orbital bombardment or the detonation of ordinance on the ground. Several buildings were torn nearly in half, gutted and exposing their insides. Fingers of twisted rebar jutted out of what was once elegant masonry, and cables shot waterfalls of sparks into the air.

The dirty, but still mostly white forms of clone troopers could be seen moving through the streets and skywalks below. Some appeared to be assisting emergency workers in the beginnings of what would be a massive clean-up; others, in darker, narrower streets and plazas, were accompanying AT-TE's seeking out remaining enemy droids. Still others moved swiftly on the legs of personal walkers, scouting as much for casualties, for injured, as for enemies. With so much destruction, it was now a race against time to save anyone who was caught under the rubble.

As the transport moved out of the Sah'c District and into the Senatorial District proper, a medical transport rushed by, sirens screeching, and their transport slowed and slid to the side of the skylane to give way. As the medical ship rushed past, and they edged back out into traffic, lights began to flicker on in the nearest intact spacescraper, artificial light pale in comparison to that of the sunny day. In the distance, she could make out the hazy form of the Temple Precinct, the Jedi Temple itself an indistinct blur of four spires piercing the sky. Though distant, none of the towers seemed to be burning; no smoke appeared to be rising up from the Temple. If it came under attack, any damage was likely under control. Still, once they had the chance, Ahsoka wanted to drop by and check on the building that had been her home as she grew up. A great many people lost their homes during the battle; she could only hope that no Jedi had lost theirs. The Temple would likely be organizing Jedi to aid in the relief effort by now. Though it did not typically open its doors to welcome outsiders, there would be reserves of food, medicine, and shelter being moved out as any healers not on the front lines would be joining forces with civilian doctors. Older initiates and those of Padawan age would be assisting, helping in organizing, preparing the aid for transport.

Ahsoka sighed, and felt Rex squeeze her hand, reassuringly. She summoned up a small smile for him. Somehow, it was easier to grin in the middle of battle, when it was clear she was doing something, when she was making a difference, when she was winning. Looking at the aftermath of battle reminded her of the massive loss, and the cost of failure. Grievous was still at large, but Dooku – Dooku was dead. Her small smile broadened a bit and she craned her neck back to look past Rex and see the familiar, welcome form of Master Skywalker. Count Dooku was dead; the Separatists had been dealt a crippling blow. For all the devastation Coruscant was now suffering, there was that, at least. With Dooku dead, the end of the war had to be at hand. There was only Grievous left, and without Dooku, the Separatist power structure had to be completely disorganized. Dooku was the leader, the one with the charisma, the following, and the power to bully people into his cause. Grievous, for all his ferocity, lacked that.

It was only the way in which Dooku's death occurred that worried her. People died in battle. Dooku was dueling her Master and Master Kenobi; the possibility of death was a given. Though she'd been too preoccupied with keeping Rex in one piece at the actual moment Dooku died, Rex explained to her in quiet tones it was more execution than death in battle. She'd heard the Chancellor's orders, commanding Master Skywalker to kill the Count, even while she struggled with Rex.

It wasn't the Jedi way, to execute an unarmed, injured man. Some could argue Dooku was helpless, but Ahsoka doubted that – Dooku was a Sith lord. They were never helpless. But still, he was disarmed, injured, and at her Master's mercy. As much as she loathed to think of leaving Dooku alive, executing him in such a manner was wrong.

No matter what the Chancellor said.

Her gaze slipped from the form of her Master to that of the Chancellor standing beside him. His aura enveloped him in a foul looking wreath of sulfuric yellow and putrid red, and it was abnormal; smoky rather than luminescent. Even through the Force the man felt foggy somehow; he emanated only a bland sort of _awareness_ in regards to the ruined city around him, and in the minutes after their crash landing, an equally blasé sort of _acceptance_ that he'd survived. In those moments before Dooku's death, what she sensed was disturbing. Those moments were clearer than the rest, as though he couldn't quite mask his _delight_ at the sight of Master Skywalker executing Count Dooku. Some bizarre sort of pleased _satisfaction_ at the Separatist leader's death. And then that moment of clarity was swallowed up within the fog of his aura. Now, if she concentrated, she could sense there was an acidic, close kept _anger_ bubbling under the surface of the Chancellor's thoughts, but she had to focus and try to push her way past the fumes of his aura to even notice it. There was only one other figure who had such an appearance to their aura: Count Dooku himself. Even Grievous' mutilated spirit-light didn't look like that.

It was said that the Dark Side clouded everything. Perhaps even people's souls.

Her hand tightened inside Rex's, and she clamped her fingers around his palm tensely before looking back up to him. He'd removed his helmet and clipped it back to his belt while they'd waited for Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi to be checked by a medical droid after their crash landing, and he was sharing her view out the window, brown eyes absorbing the damage as well as the relief effort. As he so often did these days, Rex noticed her attention and looked down at her. She tilted her head and jutted her chin in the Chancellor's direction, just as the transport began its descent onto the Senate building's docks.

"We need to keep an eye on the Chancellor," she said, watching him as he continued to praise Master Skywalker for his efforts on the _Invisible Hand_. "He's under the influence of the Dark Side, Rex. Master's always spoken so well of him, but I don't like the way he looks."

Rex's voice was low when he replied, "His light looks too much like Dooku's. Smoky."

She smirked at him a little. With so much time around each other, they were getting entirely too good at reading each other's train of thought. "Exactly." The smile on her face faded and she gave the Chancellor a narrow look as he smiled and engaged General Kenobi in some polite small talk. "The Jedi have known for some time there's a Sith lord at large in the galaxy, other than Dooku. If the Chancellor has been under the influence of that Sith lord, had contact with him…."

The thought of a Republic controlled by a Sith was nauseating. And who was more powerful in the galaxy than the Chancellor of the Republic? Even if Palpatine wasn't Force-sensitive himself, he'd make a perfect, and incredibly powerful, pawn.

"There's no evidence of that," Rex warned, and Ahsoka bit her lip in consternation. That was true. A foul aura and a feeling of wrongness were circumstantial. If they were going to try working towards taking down the Chancellor of the Republic, they needed proof. A lot of it.

"Then we get evidence," she replied sharply, still focused on the Chancellor. The transport rocked very slightly as it touched down on the landing pad and the door opened. Beyond the front windows, she could see an assembly of important politicians, clustered together and waiting for his return. "The trick will be making sure Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi are able to follow any trail we leave for them." She shivered, and Rex's hand came down onto her shoulder. She gave him a thin smile, and placed her hand on top of his gloved one. A Sith in control of the Republic, just as there was a Sith in control of the Separatists. It made no sense, though, if both the Chancellor and Dooku were allied with the same unknown Sith leader. Or were they rivals of some kind? Subordinates vying for power or position? Did that explain Palpatine's pleasure at Dooku's death? But still, what was the point? The motive? Why would a Sith play two pawns, two armies, off each other? Or was there some other goal the Sith was trying to reach?

Ahsoka shook her head, fighting a chill. Rex's hand tightened on her shoulder, but she could bring up no wan smile for him this time. Whatever it was going on, she didn't even want to think of what would happen to the Jedi if their ancient enemy gained control of the Republic military. The losses would be enormous. There would be civil war. The Jedi would be obligated to try to destroy the Sith, for the safety of the Republic as much as for their own survival. And the Chancellor, if he were allied with the Sith, would have all the resources of the Republic at his disposal.

It was a nightmarish scenario. It _couldn't _come to pass.

"Come on," Rex said, his hand slipping from her shoulder to behind her neck, just under her back lekku, where the skin was thin and soft. She knew the feel of his hands well: firm, calloused, flexible just down the center of the palm. She flushed a little at the contact. It was a terribly intimate spot to touch, far more than the touch of hands, though Rex wouldn't know that and clearly had no inappropriate intentions in mind. The dark chevrons on her lekku darkened further. His hand felt different there, on that tender spot, than in her hand. She kept her silence about the intimacy of the gesture, while a peculiar flush of glittering emerald sparks began to twirl throughout her aura, close to her skin.

He steered her away from the window with a gentle push, then let his hand slide away from the back of her neck as they began to walk, apparently oblivious to her reaction, as his attention was fixed on the group moving outside the transport. "Unless you'd rather go listen to General Kenobi debrief the Council?"

Ahsoka rolled her eyes, pushing thoughts of Rex's hand on such a delicate spot out of her mind. It was a silly distraction, one he made without deliberation of intimacy. There were more important matters at hand than a fresh awareness of Rex's touching her. At least where to go next was a clear decision. "No thanks. I want to keep an eye on Master Skywalker a little longer before we start snooping around the Chancellor."

The transport was now empty of everyone except for General Kenobi, who was leaning against the side of the door and talking with Master Skywalker. It only took a moment to slip past him and descend the steps, just as he was mentioning a particular misadventure on Cato Neimoidia.

"What happened on Cato Neimoidia?" Rex asked as they began to make their way towards the huddle of politicians around the Chancellor.

Ahsoka snorted and rolled her eyes. "Beats me. They wouldn't ever tell me. Apparently it involved something particularly embarrassing for Master Kenobi, but I don't know what."

"Gundarks?"

Ahsoka chuckled. "I don't think there are gundarks on Cato Neimoidia, but you never know. They seem to like finding him."

The quip earned her a small smile from Rex, and they drew closer to the small throng surrounding the Chancellor, just as the transport lifted off from the landing pad in a rush of wind. Master Skywalker walked quickly by, R2 beside him, to join the senators. Master Windu stood at the group's head, just under the shade offered by the vast halls of the Senate building, and squared off against the parade of diplomats and politicians. He spoke clearly, resolutely, his voice carrying so that the assembly could hear him. "Then the Jedi Council will make finding Grievous our top priority," he was confirming, gaze as cool as ever. His iron grey and amethyst ambience was sleek around him, flowing like slightly lambent liquid in the sunny afternoon, and contrasting sharply against the cloudier looking aura around the Chancellor.

Windu's words seemed to signal the end of a conversation, and serve as an unspoken sign to move further into the building's more shadowy interior. The gaggle of politicians trailed after the Jedi Master and the Chancellor, the two of them remaining just on the very edge of the other's personal space, as though they shared a mutual dislike neither could officially acknowledge. Ahsoka noted not only their stances, but their auras as well; they seemed to snipe at each other, the Chancellor's hazy yellow tendrils periodically snaking slowly out to probe the space close to Master Windu. His light, in return, snapped at every curl of smoke, blocking the lazy assault as decisively as a lightsaber defended against a blaster shot. Master Windu's _irritation_, though well concealed under deep layers of _concern, apprehension_, and _weariness, _was just barely noticeable. The Chancellor continued to emit a strange sort of stern _aloofness_, mixed with a sharp sense of _confidence_. A small frown tugged at Ahsoka's lips, and the space between her brows creased. The war their auras appeared to be waging seemed to be an entirely subconscious battle, but it still suggested something potentially interesting: could normal spirit-light be used to deflect corrupted spirit "smoke"?

She tucked the thought away for later, to discuss with Rex at greater length. The senators were moving deeper into the depths of the building, their various auras flickering anxiously around them. The familiar black-white gleam of Master Skywalker was not moving among them, though, and she paused to turn back, Rex stopping beside her. Squinting into the brightness outside the building revealed no familiar outline silhouetted against the sunlit entrance. Rex tugged lightly on her hand and pointed towards the great columns that lined the hall and the shadowy gloom just behind them.

A pair of spirit-lights glowed there, Master Skywalker's wonderfully vivid, the white marbling that veined it broad and bright, and it was clashing joyfully into the familiar, rich blue and orange of Padme. Ahsoka couldn't resist a smile, as the quartet of colors meshed and blended, spiraling in a sparkling swirl of many colored lights. Anakin's dreams of Varykino were so peaceful, so different from the other confused jumbles and the terrifying vision of the figure in black. If Padme was what brought him some measure of peace, she was happy enough for him to have it, as much as it conflicted with Jedi tradition and rules. He was so much brighter with her, and it was a relief to see it.

Ahsoka shot Rex a grin, and towed him along with her as she edged somewhat closer to the pair in the shadows, clinging to each other so tenderly and whispering so they could not be overheard. There was such a sense of unabashed _joy_ flowing from Master Skywalker that Ahsoka couldn't help but smile, though the mix of conflicting emotions pouring off Padme tempered it slightly. It had been nearly four months since the last time they'd stopped to visit Padme; Ahsoka felt a twinge of guilt at the thought, but here on Coruscant, Padme seemed so safe, and there were so many others in so much more danger. Padme simply hadn't been as much of a priority, especially after they learned how to whisper, to have influence over decisions, to affect things. There was so much more to do, on the battlefield. So much more need for help. Still, it was good to see she was well, though caught within a flurry of feelings: _nervousness_ and _excitement_, _happiness_ and _relief_.

Each ran their hands over the other, caressing, touching, reassuring, and Ahsoka felt her montrals flush a bit. She'd mostly gotten used to observing people who did not know they were being watched, but at times like these it was hard not to still feel a bit like she was spying. They were just close enough to overhear the couple talking, and Anakin was murmuring, "I don't think they'd have ever brought us back from the Outer Rim sieges," as he stroked Padme's cheeks, kissed her lips, pulled her closer in a whirl of obsidian iridescence.

It was supposed to be so wrong, Ahsoka knew, but it looked so right. They shone so brilliantly, their auras fusing into one beautiful blur of many colors, dancing around them as they came together again, almost stealing the kisses from each other as though attempting to make up for any they did not share during their separation. A surge forward from Master Skywalker, though, seemed to bring Padme back into the moment, and she whispered nervously, "Wait, not here."

"Yes, here," he returned. "I'm tired of all this deception, I don't care if they know we're married."

Ahsoka sucked in a breath, and felt Rex's hand tighten around hers. She spared him a look, and found him looking down at her with a peculiar expression, a mixture of _curiosity_ blended with something almost _pained_, his aura moving slow and careful around him, the variegated blue and gold whirling so cautiously. She lowered her eyes, unsure of what to say. Master Skywalker was a Jedi. If the Council knew he was married, he'd have two choices – separate from Padme and remain a Jedi, or leave the Order. It didn't take any particular insight to know which option her Master would choose. Not with his happiness blazing out from him like a sun against a sky. She sent another look at the two again, locked into another embrace, Padme tucked neatly against Anakin's larger frame.

Was it pleasant, to be held like that? Was having someone hold you like that worth changing your life for? Was merging your aura with someone else's worth leaving the Order for?

Rex's face seemed cast in stone, when she looked at him again. There were no shadows on his face - his luminosity chased any of those away – but there was a hardness there, a flatness in his brown eyes that worried her, and a slow tightening of his brightness accompanied by a slow building of tension and _anger_ that pulled her mind away from her Master and Padme and onto Rex. Any words she might have next said were swept away by the next words she heard Padme speak so softly.

"Ani, I'm pregnant."

Her attention snapped away from Rex, and she felt him stiffen beside her.

If Master Skywalker did intend to leave the Order, then Padme's pregnancy would add a further urgency to his departure. Slowly, one step at a time, Ahsoka drifted to the right, pulling Rex along with her, trying to change her angle of view. Padme was heavily robed as well as firmly pressed against Anakin, but even though they were still locked in each other's embrace, they were leaning back enough to look each other in the face. Physically, they were a mass of shadows and cloth. Even their spirit-lights were meshed together where they had contact. But at Padme's waist-height, Ahsoka could see a crescent of thickness around her midsection, a deepening of her sapphire-blue and fiery orange that seemed to pool and eddy in one place, as though more energy were collected there than elsewhere on her body. Her colors trembled though, reflecting her _nervousness_.

Beside her, Master Skywalker's aura whirled, pulsed, calmed, then leapt again, cycling in synchronization with waves of _shock, disbelief, happiness, apprehension, love_. "We're not going to worry about anything right now. Alright?" Some of the surprise wore away from him, and a tentative smile began to emerge on his mouth. "This is a happy moment. The happiest moment of my life."

Padme's nervousness did not fade away, but it did fade, lessen. Her lips curved up into a small smile, and when Master Skywalker embraced her again, they melted into each other, holding tight through their uncertainty and burgeoning fear. Both knew their options, and the consequences of any actions they took. No matter what direction they chose, the next few days, few weeks, would be difficult. And so they held each other, in solidarity and support and love.

They needed privacy. Time to be alone, to talk, to plan, to simply be together. It was a mess, but right now, there was little she could do to help. So Ahsoka smiled for them, and if there was worry and sadness in her smile, there was some happiness too, seeing them bound together.

A distant tightness eventually drew her attention away from the young lovers, and down to her hand, which was slowly being crushed. She flexed her fingers, squeezed back, hard, and looked up to Rex's stony face in mild alarm when he did not immediately lessen his grip. She wrapped her free hand around his, and pulled lightly, trying to distract him. His gaze did not waver, but his grip eased and his lips pressed into a thin line. The scene they just witnessed was worrisome, but it shouldn't be affecting him like this. She reached up and shook him on the shoulder. "Rex, what's wrong?"

He closed his eyes, bent his head, and looked at her. His illumination seemed to expand around him, and she could feel a strange sense of _sadness_, laced with some sort of bitter tang she did not like. Her fingers left his shoulder, reached upward, but hesitated short of touching his cheek in comfort. His eyes were too hard, too uninviting, and her hand fell back to her side.

After a long moment, Rex looked away from her, and once more onto the twined forms of Anakin and Padme, standing so deep in the shadows. He seemed so distant when he said, roughly, "There's something I want to show you."

And then Coruscant was gone, and she found herself standing under a field of stars.

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><p>Chapters in this fic keep getting longer than I expect them to. This chapter and chapter 22 were going to be one, but this one was getting long again, so I decided to split it, because together it'd be monster sized. Any guesses as to where Rex is whisking them away to?<p>

Turns out the incident on Cato Neimodia happened only a few days before the Battle of Coruscant, but I like Ahsoka's snippy response about it, so I left it. Maybe there was an earlier incident she's thinking of. :P

~Queen


	23. The Music of the Spheres

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"<em>There is geometry in the humming of the strings. <em>

_There is music in the spacings of the spheres."_

_- Pythagoras_

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><p>Chapter 22. The Music of the Spheres<p>

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><p>It was not Shili.<p>

The open sky was similar, vast and deep with stars twinkling brightly against the black of space, but there were only two moons casting the landscape in their soft glow. One was whole and full, heavy in the western sky, while the other was a waxing crescent, a silvery smile hanging in the heaven. The air was warm, but not uncomfortably so, and a soft breeze ran through her, cool and comfortable. They stood in a field of thigh-high wheat, the golden-green stalks just beginning to bud kernels on their spiked tips. Still small and light, the heads did not yet bow under the weight of the grains they were trying to form, and stood strong and tall against the wind. Even so, the grass whispered as the breeze moved through the tough stalks, causing them to lean forward towards a farm that stood nearby.

There was a round, dark brown barn to the left, and to the right, a slightly lumpy looking house, buttery light glowing in the windows. Glowbugs floated between the structures, dancing in wobbly loops as they flashed their little lights _on-off, on-off_, signaling to each other in the night. The pastoral scene was peaceful, and a remarkably stark contrast to the devastation and endless urbanization of Coruscant.

Rex began to walk, and she trailed a half step behind him as he strode through the field, resolutely heading towards the farmstead. Young wheat passed through her legs as they moved, though once they walked through a wooden fence, they emerged into the clear area where the buildings sat. Rex pulled them even with the first window, and peered inside; he apparently didn't find what he was looking for, because he withdrew with a shake of his head and pulled her further along several steps, until the faint sound of music became audible. He directed them towards the sound, and a moment later, they rounded the back of the homestead, passed by a nuna house, and found themselves looking out over an occupied clearing.

A family of four filled the space, two adults and two young children. A thick blanket lay on the ground, and the two adults sat upon it. One was clearly a Twi'lek female, judging by the pair of bright pink lekku trailing down her back. She was encased in a cheerfully glittering aura of bright blue, complimented by veins of rosy coral. The man was presumably a human, though Ahsoka could not see his face from behind, and there was a steady blue and green iridescence enveloping him, edges just close enough to his companion's to caress the outer limits of her spirit-light. Their laughter was soft, but clear and deep as they watched the younglings playing in front of them. The two children were Twi'lek as well, a peach and blue spangled little girl with an aura of wildly whirling silvery-blue, and a coral skinned little boy wreathed in rust red and warm brown.

The younglings were yelling in delight, particularly the girl, who had her arms stretched out wide, and spun herself in dizzying circles as her lekku swung around her. A stream of fiery orange sparkles flew in a ring around her, showering out of the ignited tip of a sparkle-wand in her right hand. Her spinning slowed, and she leapt up into the air, lekku bouncing, then twirled again in an uncontrolled, childish dance of sparkle-induced glee. The music drifting out of a small portable radio on the blanket gave her a song to set her movements to, tempo swift and upbeat, filled with drums and piping. The boy was waving his own sparkle-wand as well, though not quite as vigorously as the girl, tossing the fiery tip as high as he could without releasing the grip, apparently trying to determine exactly how high he could get the bright sparks to fly before they disappeared. They burned brighter than glowbugs, crackling as they arched upward and then cascaded back down, winking out of existence before hitting the ground.

It was such an incredibly charming sight, Ahsoka couldn't help but smile, though it faded quickly as her thoughts turned again to Rex. He was still looking grim, his gaze locked on the family before them. She didn't know when Rex met this group – they didn't seem to be refugees – but he'd wanted to show them to her for a reason. "Who are they?" she asked, hoping to prompt him into giving an explanation.

Instead, he responded by asking, "Did you ever want kids?"

She blinked up at him, surprised, then looked at the family before them, unsure where Rex was going with this. There were always younglings in the Temple, brought for training from everywhere in the galaxy. But Jedi themselves didn't typically have children. She glanced down at her belly, taut and flat with muscle and glowing faintly in her turquoise, aurora hues. She couldn't quite imagine it swollen large with a child, round and unwieldy with a baby in it. It seemed bizarre. Not unnatural, obviously, but not something she'd ever considered seriously for herself. She wouldn't be able to fight like that. How could she go on missions? Do her work? She knew her humanoid biology, and once she'd reached adolescence, she'd started receiving the same annual contraceptives as every other female of childbearing years. Jedi weren't required to be celibate, though it was a frequent enough practice. Sexual health was lumped in with all other health matters, as a matter of course. Jedi having children just seemed…odd. Not wrong, exactly, but strange. It wasn't unheard of, but it was exceptionally rare. Master Skywalker would be one of very, very few. She couldn't imagine him not wanting to raise Padme's child as his own, either, instead of depositing it in the crèche after birth like any other Jedi born child would be.

A Padawan, though. A Padawan would be nice. She always thought, when she achieved knighthood and spent a little time – a year or two, maybe – on her own, she'd start considering Padawans. A little Togruta girl, maybe, like her. There was one in the crèche, a girl named Ashla, who would be reaching Padawan age at about the right time. She liked sparring, and was good at it from what Ahsoka saw of her, and she would attend any annual Ullambana gatherings like the other Togruta in the Temple. She liked dancing, just like the little Twi'lek girl twirling wildly around in front of her right now. Ahsoka liked Ashla. It wouldn't be a bad match, and it was as close to having a child as most Jedi ever came. She couldn't quite imagine herself as a mother, but she could certainly imagine herself as a sister, a teacher. And she'd be way less bossy than Skyguy. Probably.

She said as much to Rex. "I thought I'd have a Padawan, someday. Another Togruta, maybe." She blinked once, up at him, and had an odd thought. "Did _you_ want kids?"

The corners of his lips quirked upward momentarily, but didn't stay that way. Rex sighed and shook his head. "Do you remember, awhile ago, when there was a mission to rescue General Koth?"

Ahsoka's lekku wavered once, swaying back and forth. "I wasn't there, but yeah. That was when you got shot."

Rex nodded once, still looking at the family and not at her. "I was laid up here for a day. They let me stay, fed me. The kids are Shaeeah and Jek. Suu is their mother." He paused for a brief moment, then added, "Cut is their father."

There was something in the way his voice caught that made Ahsoka look at the man again. He was dark haired, and it was pulled into a stubby tail at the back of his head. His shoulders were broad, strong looking, and there was a familiarity to their shape. She peered at him harder, and as Suu said something to him, touching his shoulder lightly, he turned his head, and revealed his profile. A high forehead, strong jaw, half of a broad nose, and a dark eye became visible. His lips were drawn into a very familiar smile. Ahsoka's eyes widened, and she looked again up at Rex in astonishment.

"Cut chose his own family," Rex said quietly. "Offered me a place, if I wanted to stay. But I had my own family, my own duty, so I went back to the 501st,, to protect them."

His hand tightened around hers, though without crushing it. His shoulders tensed, bunched together, and his brows drew down as his face twisted into a scowl. His usually serene sky blue and warm gold aura pulsed, and there was a flash of helpless _anger_ from him, but also _hurt_ and something painstakingly like raw _betrayal_. "I gave up my life to fight for what I thought was right. To do my duty, for the Republic. To fight against an evil I couldn't even imagine, but I knew was coming. I followed orders with absolute confidence they were right." He made a frustrated sound, and his shoulders fell. "Millions of my brothers are dead. You saw the Chancellor. He's supposed to _be_ the Republic. Infallible. Now it looks like he is the evil that was coming." His last words were deeply bitter. "If he is working for the Sith, it's Krell all over again. We're all being used."

Ahsoka could only look up at him, stricken, as the jazz music played innocuously over the galactic radio and sparkle-wands crackled to the accompaniment of youngling laughter. This time, she didn't hesitate and let her hand return to her side, when he looked so cold and forbidding. Ahsoka reached out and placed a hand in the center of his chest, just over the breastplate of his armor, and she leaned in closer, pressing her shoulder against his side. She'd always known she'd be a Jedi. She always wanted to be in the field, fighting, doing something, saving the galaxy, helping people, knowing her life was worth something. Even now, in death, she was trying to make sure that didn't change. She wanted to save the galaxy, or at least some of the people in it. She couldn't imagine herself as anything else. An Ahsoka Tano that wasn't a Jedi wasn't Ahsoka Tano. In most ways that mattered, she was no different from Rex. She gave up her life for what she thought was right as well.

Rex's weight grew heavier against her, and she realized he was letting her support him, at least slightly. She pressed the side of a montral into his arm and sighed, closing her eyes and letting some of her light flow wider, farther, and into his, giving him what support she could. Gently, she applied the Force to him; not to his mind, but to the memory of muscles and skin that made up his spectral form, and urged them to relax, to ease. He sighed after a moment, and his shoulders loosened, lowered.

A pair of disappointed sounds came then, and they looked up towards the family. The sparkle-wands had fizzled out, and the younglings were trudging back towards the blanket and their parents, who were apparently guarding further wands. Suu picked up a slender, rectangular box, and drew a new wand out. Holding it away from herself, she broke the tab off the bottom of the wand, and the tip leapt to life in a crackle of blue light before it cooled into orangey-red. She handed the first to Jek, who scurried off to continue his experimenting with the sparks, then repeated the process for Shaeeah, handing her a newly lit wand.

Suu then drew out two more sparkle-wands, and stood, reaching down to offer Cut a hand. He accepted it with a grin, and she pulled him up. They stepped a little away from the blanket that held the radio, and then Suu demonstrated how to break the tab on the bottom of the wand to ignite it. Her wand erupted in a white plume of light, then began to round into a nimbus of sparkling orange fire that scented the air with the smell of sulfur. Cut followed suit, somewhat more uncertainly, and he started slightly when he broke the tab on his wand, and it ignited with a bright flash. Still, a smile spread across his face at the sight of it, the orange light of the wand contrasting sharply to the pale azure and cool green of his aura. Suu laughed, "Like this," to him, and began to wave her wand in small, precise arcs. It took a moment, but Ahsoka realized she was spelling her name into the air, the sparkle-wand creating the brief tail of light that made up the letters. After the three letters of her name were etched into the air, she turned to Cut, expectant.

He made his motions more slowly, curving the first letter slowly, the second more quickly, and the third with a flourish and a grin. Their auras blended, fused into a quartet of complimenting colors, cheerful and bright from their pleasure.

"Did you want a family, Rex?" Ahsoka asked gently.

He didn't respond right away, but when he did, he started with a single laugh. "I don't know what I'd be, other than a soldier. Never thought of myself as anything else, and don't think I'd want to be. But this is good," he said, making a vague gesture towards the family and their sparkle-wands. "Cut's no coward. Maybe he had it right all along. Desert and choose your own life, and if you want to be a farmer, be a farmer." He paused again, as Shaeeah made another wild twirl, the light of her wand trailing like a ribbon around her. "Don't know about kids. Never thought about it, really." His attention moved then, from Shaeeah to Suu, and he admitted, thickly, "Wouldn't have minded having someone to share my life with, though."

It stung, somehow, and it shouldn't. Rex's admission sounded so terribly lonely, as though she weren't even there. This wasn't life, but it was afterlife, and as long as they kept their handfast, it seemed they would be together. How different was their situation, from the couple standing before them? How different from Master Skywalker and Padme?

She leaned against him, and looked at their joined hands. The place where her aurora colors merged with his sunlit sky ones was brighter than anywhere else, a pale blue that was nearly white in intensity. He was very solid beside her, the only thing she was able to really, truly touch anymore. How many times now had they walked or run together on Shili? Lay in the turu-grass together and talked and looked at the stars?

"But I do that," Ahsoka said, awkwardly. When he finally looked down at her, his face was startled, almost confused, and she looked briefly away, feeling both a bit hurt and a little embarrassed. She was comparing herself to Suu, placing herself in the same context of Suu's relationship to Cut. Life-partner, companion…wife. By extension, it placed Rex in the position of her husband. It was a far deeper connection to Rex than she'd ever acknowledged before, and it was enough to make her flush, though it was not enough to make her retract her words, or want to.

As long as he wanted to hold her hand, she would be content to hold his.

It was a feeling of quiet _awe_ that drew her attention back up to Rex. He still looked stunned, but there was something else taking up residence in his widening eyes, as though he hadn't ever really seen her before. He was searching her face, her eyes, his lips slightly parted in surprise.

Her hand was still resting on his chest, just to the right of where his heart once was. His armor felt hard and flat under her palm, but warm too. Her sienna fingers were a perfect contrast to the pure white of his armor, but the rich, nighttime blues of her aura seemed to match the bright, daylight ones he wore. Each color seemed deeper, somehow, clearer and stronger, when they brushed against those belonging to the other.

Fingers were being placed, very lightly, on her side. When she didn't move, they grew heavier, spread out, until Rex's hand was resting on the curve of her hip. They'd hugged before, more than once, and leaned against each other fairly frequently, but this was not the same as those times. Ahsoka suspected that if she still had a heart, it would be beating very quickly right now. Something at the core of the relationship she shared with Rex was changing, and she could feel it happening. This embrace was not an encouraging hug, nor was it a bit of shared strength in a moment of exhaustion or extremity. The light around Rex seemed almost blinding, and their shared luminosity nova-like in intensity.

They met somewhere in the middle of it all, and Ahsoka only half closed her eyes. She could see Rex's face very close to hers, his half-lidded brown eyes honey-colored from all the light, before he closed them and the space between them completely. There seemed to be stars behind her eyelids when she let hers drift shut, and only the slightest application of pressure when his lips met hers. There was no desperate need in the kiss, or even much passion, but there was _acceptance_ there, and _understanding_, and _familiarity_ and _warmth_ too. Their lips met a second time a moment later, then a third, all as light and comforting and uncertain as the first, before they pulled away far enough to stare at each other, wide eyed.

The shriek of a little girl interrupted their reverie. "It's starting!" A second, equally childish whoop of excitement echoed the first, and then the deeper laughter of adults joined them. The sparkle-wands in the youngling's hands fizzled out, and a moment later, their parents' wands also went dark, plunging the scene into a night lit only by the stars and moons above. Those stars, though framed by the two large moons, were not still; most of them glinted steadily in the background, but brighter ones began to fall, one by one at first, then more rapidly, bright balls of white light with comet-tails, streaking through the black sky before falling too low and winking out.

Ahsoka smiled at the sight. Stars seemed to glimmer, to twinkle, for those on a planet, because they were seen through a thick, many layered ocean of breathable atmosphere. Meteoroids, though, were just tiny bits of cosmic debris, caught in a planet's gravitational pull and then burnt in the upper atmosphere as they were drawn in.

But they were so beautiful, all the same. She was still holding Rex's hand with one of hers, while the other rested on the center of his chest. One of his hands still held hers, while the other had pulled her into a firmer embrace, now encircling her entire waist rather than simply touching her hip. She felt small against him, but strong and comfortable, too.

The music on the radio seemed to swell, to strengthen, the sound of strings deepening as timpani and flutes joined them. The radiant point of the meteor storm was almost directly overhead, and the cascade of shooting stars seemed to curve widely across the sky, a wild waltz to the music before disappearing into the atmosphere.

Another star fell, and the music changed again, growing lighter, almost flirtatious in its joyful tone. The stars seemed to flit across the sky in accompaniment, a visual companion to the sound.

Ahsoka's hand slipped an inch further down Rex's chest, as she tilted her head back further to stare up at the radiant point, the origin of the storm of falling stars. Stars themselves made no sound – there was no sound in the vacuum of space – but suns, moons and planets did resonate in their orbits, interact with each other, balance each other's gravity. That resonation was the song of the universe, a song of energy, a song of the Force itself. She straightened slightly as her white brows furrowed, looking up at the radiant point and the stars streaking out from it, almost dancing to the rise and fall of the uplifting music playing so elegantly out of the little galactic radio.

When the dancers performed their dance around the Ullambana bonfire, they did not do so in silence, but to the sound of music. There was no dance without sound, just as there were no shadows without the fire. They weren't separate, they were joined, twinned, the dance for the eyes and the music for the ears.

Maybe speaking, being heard by the living, wasn't a separate ability from being seen at all. They had no vocal chords to speak anymore; they had no bodies to be seen, either. Their spirit-light was the medium in which they could make themselves seen. Perhaps allowing it to resonate, to hum, to _sing_, would make it the medium to make themselves _heard_.

The Togruta said that souls were stars, bright and luminous. If suns, moons and planets reverberated in their courses to interact – why would it be any different for ghosts, whose souls were like stars?

Could they resonate the very air?

Rex's voice was a rich timbre when he asked, "What's wrong?"

She lowered her gaze from the star streaked sky, looked at him with a light in her blue eyes, and smiled. "I have an idea."

* * *

><p>He laughed, "Alright, alright," and pulled his head out of the way of an overzealous eopie's tongue-bath.<p>

Cut placed a hand high on the creature's head and stroked it once, fondly and with another chuckle, before locking it into its stall for the night. He gave it one final pat on the snout, then turned and headed back out of the barn, flicking off the fluorescent light at the barn door as he exited. A moment later, and he slid the barn door into place, locking it as well for the night. The eopies were too clever by half sometimes, and enjoyed the challenge of figuring out how to get out of their stalls. The last thing he or Suu wanted to wake to one morning was a bunch of hungry eopies wandering all over the homestead and grazing on the crops.

The meteor storm apparently only happened once every few years, and it was the first he'd seen since arriving on Saleucami almost three years ago. Shooting stars were common enough, but he'd never seen so many at once before. It lasted almost an hour before the meteorites were all burned away in a natural display of celestial fireworks. Now he understood why Shaeeah and Jek were so excited about the thing.

Turning away from the barn door, he paused. There was a familiar figure standing a few meters away, with a face identical to his own. The armor the man wore was familiar looking as well, though different from what he'd seen before leaving the GAR; it was heavier, denser looking, and the helmet clipped to the man's utility belt had a different visor and presumably a different optical array. There was also a pair of jaig eyes painted onto the crest of the bucket's forehead area. He was hairless, clean shaven, and somber looking. Moreover, he was glowing a pale silver, and Cut could see straight through him.

He tilted his head to the side and said, warily, "Rex. You're looking very…transparent, today."

Rex smirked a bit at that, then opened his mouth and moved it. No sound came out, and the smirk turned into a frown. He turned his head slightly to the side, cocking it as though hearing something, then looked to Cut again, taking a deep breath and then the pale blue light around him began to flicker and shift around him as he spoke. The words that came out were uneven at first, dipping and then rising as though he had no control over the volume of his voice. "Hello, Cut. It's good to see you again."

Cut relaxed, very slightly. Rex was here, but not entirely. There was only one way men usually got out of the Republic military, and it seemed Rex had taken it. "So you decided to retire from the GAR, I take it?"

Rex's face returned to smiling, and the next words lacked the uneven tones of the first, sounding more steady and normally spoken. "That's one way of putting it," he said, and absently touched the middle of his chest with his visible hand. The other seemed to be invisible, his left arm hanging to the side and fading out until there was nothing but empty air below his wrist.

He was indicating the middle of his chest, and Cut lifted a brow. "Chest shot again?"

Rex chuckled once. "I'm popular with the sniper droids."

"So I see."

Rex turned slightly to the side, then, and looked down past his shoulder for a long moment, before turning back to face Cut. A second form started to coalesce then, silvery-blue and indistinct for several seconds, before it started to take the shape of a being. A face formed first, eyes closed, with the delicate bone structure of a female, then expanded, a pair of curving montrals moving upward, while a pair of checked lekku hung down. A body took shape, thin and wiry and definitely feminine, and linked with Rex's by a clasping of hands.

The young woman opened a pair of enormous eyes and smiled. Rex said, "This is Ahsoka."

Ahsoka gave Rex a sideways look, then turned her attention to Cut. She said, dryly, "Rex hasn't told me everything about you. Yet." Her voice also wavered oddly through the first few words, then steadied, evened out as the ghost-light around her flickered and moved, rippling like light glancing off a vibroblade. "It's good to meet you, though."

There weren't many opportunities to meet women in the GAR, and Ahsoka wasn't dressed like any technician he'd ever known, which left very few possibilities. Though her clothes weren't exactly prime for combat, she wore a utility belt with pouches for standard issue field equipment. Though there were no weapons on it, there was a pair of hooks near each of her hips for them to be placed, rather than holsters for blasters.

Cut looked at Rex, who was smiling at Ahsoka with an expression of such pleased pride, Cut couldn't help but find himself grinning as well. When the Togruta woman looked up at Rex, there was such a look of an unabashed mischief in her eyes he could only think of Suu when she was feeling particularly flirtatious. Cut tilted his head to the side and considered them for a moment, before chuckling.

Rex had come to visit him with his Jedi girlfriend. Both were ghosts. Life was strange.

"Seems you're doing alright, considering," Cut said, drawing their attention back to him. There was a little embarrassment mixed into their smiles now, and it only made Cut smile all the more. Rex was a good man. If he couldn't have some peace in life, then he deserved some happiness in death. It seemed only fair.

The sound of the front door of the house banging open startled all three of them. The upper half of Jek emerged, hanging out the front door with his lekku dangling behind him. "Dad, Mom wants to know if you were going to read to me and Shaeeah tonight or not."

Jek's gaze didn't waver from Cut, nor did it seem to take in the presence of their strange, glowing visitors. Cut looked to the side, and found empty space rather than a pair of ghosts. He sighed once, but couldn't feel too sad. Death was always close by, when you were in the GAR. Rex dying in battle was more inevitable than unexpected.

It was a little sad to know of his death. He was a good man, Captain Rex. But apparently he wasn't alone.

Cut turned to his son, and began walking to the house. "I'll read to you, Jek. Come on. Let's get inside."

* * *

><p>Two figures glowed in their many colors nearby, unseen, standing side by side and hand in hand, as Cut climbed the steps and closed the door to the house behind him.<p>

* * *

><p>Music for this chapter is Gustav Holst's <em>Jupiter, the Bringer of Jollity<em> from his suite, _The Planets_.

~Queen


	24. With Only Three Words

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p>Chapter 23. With Only Three Words<p>

* * *

><p>There were different kinds of evil.<p>

The overt kind was the easiest to spot; it was present in those who killed, corrupted, invaded, enslaved. But there was also a subtler kind of evil, a quiet kind that was subterfuge and lies, deception and malice, and it so often wore a smiling, pleasant face.

It was this subtler kind the Chancellor exhibited now, sitting behind his large desk with his fingers steepled under his chin. His eyes were hooded but intent, and he gave every indication of listening attentively to the words raging out of the mouth of the mayor of Coruscant's Dacho District, a burly human man who was ruddy-faced with anger. "The proposed reconstruction plan will do nothing but further segregate the Works from the rest of the city! This tragedy should be used as an opportunity to open the district, build new infrastructure and transportation, and reactivate the factories for production, not close it off and alienate it further!" His fist landed a heavy blow onto the arm of the chair in which he sat.

The mayor of Fobosi let out a delicate snort, and when the mayor of Dacho glared at her, she waved a well-manicured hand. "There's plenty of aliens in the Dacho lower levels already, Bors. It can hardly get more alien." Her lips curved up into an unpleasant smile, and Bors' glare intensified.

Ahsoka sighed and scowled at the back of Fobosi's elaborately coiffed, blonde head. Sitting before the Chancellor's massive desk were five mayors, each representing one of five districts on Coruscant, all affected by the recent battle. The meeting began a half hour ago, and so far, all that had come of it was mayor Dacho becoming irate, mayor Fobosi being snotty, mayor Sah'c rolling her eyes every five minutes, and mayor Jrade supporting mayor Fobosi in needling the mayors of Dacho and Orange. The entire debacle was both incredibly inane and incredibly infuriating, and Ahsoka found herself gaining a new level of respect for Padme, who dealt with this kind of nonsense daily. Aggressive negotiations were vastly preferable to this, and at the moment, Ahsoka suspected mayor Dacho would agree with her, considering the sheer volume of venom in the glare he was directing at Fobosi.

Before the assembly of five, the Chancellor sat, expression mild and sympathetic. Behind him, Coruscant went about its daily business, the sun shining brightly overhead, its golden orb just visible beyond one of the spacescrapers. Vehicles filled the skylanes, civilian traffic mingling with military and emergency transports. If it were not for the unnatural, yellow-red miasma encompassing him, the Chancellor would have been mistaken for a caring soul, listening so sympathetically to Dacho's furious complaints. But that miasma writhed around him, curling in gentle tendrils that seeped out across his desk towards the mayors like some many armed thing hoping to snatch at them.

They hadn't yet found evidence of his treachery. Ahsoka leaned back against the wall and pursed her lips into a thoughtful frown. It was a matter of time, she suspected. Time and presence. With Dooku dead and Grievous defeated at Coruscant, Jedi across the galaxy were redoubling their efforts, pressing into Separatist lines, and after a day of no unusual behavior from the Chancellor, they'd temporarily departed to check on their friends and allies, to deliver any "gut feelings" and hunches they could about Separatist maneuvers, in hopes of saving lives. There was a feeling that the end was near, and though there should have been a growing sense of relief, instead Ahsoka could only feel an increasing pressure, as though everything was boiling to a head, rather than emerging from a long, dark tunnel.

She didn't like it. It all felt wrong. The ability to speak as well as be seen meant that once they had proof of the Chancellor's alliance with the Sith, they could go straight to Master Skywalker and explain what was happening rather than create a whispered breadcrumb trail of impressions, hunches, and feelings that led to the evidence the Jedi would need to take action and arrest the man.

It would also be good, just to talk to Master Skywalker again, to be his Padawan again. Ahsoka smiled, at first to herself, then up at Rex. He was frowning at the Chancellor and the mayors, brows furrowed thoughtfully, lips turned down at the corners. Her smile softened, warmed. There was little difference, in the way she and Rex talked since their time on Saleucami. There was little difference in the way they behaved, treated the other. But there was also a shift, an _awareness_ of each other that was not previously there. He smiled at her differently, now; listened with a different kind of intensity. The togetherness they shared though their holding of hands had shifted, but not so drastically that everything seemed different. Rex was Rex, and Ahsoka was Ahsoka, and they still held hands and moved from place to place and tried to help where they could. If there was more than friendship in their gazes now, it impacted their behavior little. In spite of all the darkness that seemed to be rushing towards them, she felt a little less alone, a little less helpless, with him beside her. She felt stronger.

"I don't think this is going to turn up much evidence against him," Rex muttered, still focusing on the meeting. "Can't say I think quartering off the city will be good for anyone, but it's not evidence of him turning against the Republic."

Ahsoka sighed and returned her attention to the meeting. The last two days were filled with observing the Chancellor. So far, the most suspicious thing he'd done was tell Master Skywalker a rather disturbing story about some dead Sith lord while watching a Mon Calamari ballet. It was too circumstantial, too anecdotal, to be real evidence against him, but it did raise the questions of why and how the Chancellor knew Sith histories. Something was badly wrong with the entire situation, and in spite of hovering around the Chancellor the rest of the evening, there was no other suspicious activity they could use against him. If he was in league with the mysterious Sith lord, he had yet to be contacted by his master.

"If he doesn't give up his emergency powers once Grievous is dead, I say we go to Master Skywalker regardless and tell him what we know, hard evidence or not. There's too many weird things going on that just don't add up, and he's in the middle of all of it."

Knowledge of Sith histories, reorganization of half of Courscant's districts into bizarre patterns, more and more emergency powers granted to him, establishment of a personal guard, installing regional governors on defeated Separatist planets rather than Senators, a likely alliance with the unknown Sith Master at large in the galaxy, and his disturbingly deformed aura would make a compelling argument for an investigation, if nothing else. And coming from two ghosts? Ahsoka's smile was almost feral when she looked at Palpatine. She and Rex appearing from beyond the grave to impart the information would be shocking. Master might be friends with the Chancellor, but she was his Padawan, had been through many battles with him, learned from him and listened to him. Master Skywalker – _Anakin_ – was the closest thing to a brother she'd ever had. That carried weight. He would listen to her, at least enough to shake his faith in the leader of the Republic. Maybe this was what the Son was up to, all those months ago – making it easier for Master Skywalker to listen to those he shouldn't. To make him more malleable to the Sith. That was another problem to take into account. She and Rex hadn't seen the Son since that terrible day Master Skywalker Force-choked that man, but she doubted he had simply disappeared.

She made a frustrated sound, and felt Rex's attention slide down to her. There was too much about this entire mess that just didn't make sense. There were too many loose ends, too many threads that didn't seem to be woven together, and the feeling that there was a thermal detonator ticking nearby didn't help matters.

Rex tugged on her arm slightly, and she felt a groundswell of _concern_ and _support_ flow from him as he said, "They should be near Utapau, if they haven't reached it already."

Grievous' likely whereabouts had been discovered, and Master Kenobi was sent to find him. Ahsoka grimaced. It was another thing that bothered her. She didn't understand why the Council didn't send Master Skywalker too. He was a veteran of the war, a hero, and he and Master Kenobi were near unstoppable as a team. The Council's decision to keep him on Coruscant was stupid, in her opinion, and potentially reckless. She didn't doubt Master Kenobi's skills, and he'd faced down Grievous before, but the cyborg Commander would be fighting not just for his life, but for the continuation of the Separatist cause. It would be a nasty, nasty fight, and the odds of success would be so much higher if Master Kenobi had Master Skywalker with him.

Then there was the fact the Council wanted Anakin to spy on Palpatine. Considering what she and Rex knew, it was necessary, and Anakin was best placed to successfully get information from the Chancellor. At the same time, Master Skywalker hated the idea of spying on a man he considered a friend, and perhaps rightfully so. Ahsoka grit her teeth. Evidence. If they could just get proof of Palpatine's betrayal _for_ Anakin, it would make things so much easier, and help justify the Council's otherwise inappropriate request.

But Utapau. If Master Skywalker couldn't be there, then she and Rex could go in his place, give Master Kenobi and Cody the extra support they deserved to have.

The fumes of yellow and red around the Chancellor coiled, pulsed, steamed. Ahsoka tensed. Utapau. The end of the war was in sight, and though perhaps it was selfish, she wanted to be there for it, see the cumulation of three and a half years of effort, fighting and death.

She straightened, looked up at Rex and nodded once. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>"<em>Move, move, move!<em>"

The cry rang out across the hangar bay of the _Vigilance_, repeated over and over by sergeants beckoning their men into the appropriate platoons, ushering them towards LAATi that were rapidly filling. The clatter of powering engines was near to deafening, and gunship after gunship was slamming shut its' doors and rising off the deck, gaining altitude as they ascended up out of the hangar and into the black of space.

Rex breathed out deeply, looking out over the organized chaos. The bright coronas of his brothers were electrified with pre-battle anxiety, nebulous and crackling with energy. In spite of the overwhelming swirl of rainbow hues, there was a brother who stood in the eye of the storm of activity, a familiar amber colored aura flickering tightly around him as he directed the beginnings of an assault. Cody gave one of his lieutenants a clap on the shoulder, then a firm push as the man started off towards yet another LAATi.

"Looks like we're just in time for the party," Ahsoka said wryly, nudging his arm with her shoulder.

He responded with a smirk of his own, and felt her hand tighten in his. In some ways, since visiting Saleucami, everything changed between them. In others, nothing at all. The shift in the relationship was both very simple and very profound. They'd known for months they'd be spending their afterlife together, at least until they decided to let themselves fade away. But after Saleucami, after that kiss, the context was different. They weren't just friends, weren't just working together for a common goal, though those things hadn't changed. They were more than that: partners, a team, a couple, a pair.

He liked the way she looked at him with an extra sparkle in her eyes, the way her aura washed over his and brightened it, complemented it. He squeezed her hand in response, and her dark lips curved up into a grin. He felt a little unstoppable, when she did that. Maybe he always had.

The nearby roar of a LAATi taking off drew his attention back to the present, and he gave her hand a quick twitch, tilting his head in Cody's direction. "I think I know where we can get a lift to the surface."

Ahsoka laughed once, and they moved in unison towards the Commander of the 212th, who was in the middle of pulling himself up onto the platform of a rapidly filling LAATi. They clambered aboard just as the doors slammed shut behind them, dousing the soldiers into the red-lighted murkiness of transport. The floor was already vibrating slightly, and the vibrations increased as it tilted, slanting slightly forward as the struts retracted and they left the deck of the hangar bay.

Rex angled them into a corner of the LAATi, placing himself between Ahsoka and his brothers in case of any jostling during the descent. They didn't know if the battle was already ongoing, or if this was going to be a surprise visit to any Separatists on the planet. If it was already underway, there would be a lot of juking to avoid being hit. Having flying bodies rushing through you was always a bit odd, but he figured it was less odd for him to have another clone standing inside of him, than it would be for Ahsoka.

A moment later, though, he felt an arm slip around his waist, and he looked down at his companion in surprise as she tucked herself against him. Ahsoka looked up at him with overly innocent eyes, and said, sweetly, "You're the one who always tells me to hang on."

He chuckled, unclipped his helmet from his belt, and slid it over his head before settling an arm around her shoulders. Ahsoka wedged herself more tightly against him, her shoulder firmly under his arm, and strengthened her grip around his torso. With any luck, this landing wouldn't be nearly as rough as that on the _Invisible Hand_, but there was a practicality and necessity to their embrace, no matter how laced it now was with flirtation.

They hit atmo with a jolt, and the LAATi shuddered at the turbulence of entering rough air. Men swayed but remained upright, hanging onto the handles overhead to steady themselves. Cody's steady voice then filled the cabin. "ETA at Pau City, ninety seconds."

There was a flare of light as the energy in the room spiked a notch higher, and someone called out cheerfully, "Lock and load, boys!" as weapons were lifted, given a final check, and safeties were released with a series of clicks. Another tremor rippled through the LAATi, and they swayed, buffed by winds both strong and noisy enough to battle with the drop ship's powerful turbines.

Ahsoka was frowning at the closed doors, her lips pressed into a thin, worried line; Rex eased his grip on her slightly, but squeezed her shoulder when she gave him a puzzled look. She caught on to what he was doing, though, when he began to shuffle to the right, closer to the closed doors, and adjusted her hold on him so he could more easily lean out. Slowly, Rex pushed his head though the metal door so that it emerged from the LAATi. For a moment, he was blinded by the sudden switch from the darkness of the transport's cabin to the harsh sunlight of the planet, but once that blindness faded, he was rewarded with an excellent view of the terrain around Pau City. Flat, rocky, dull brown and vast, it stretched on for kilometers in every direction, the sea of stone only periodically interrupted by the occasional oasis of grey scrub brush, before reaching the limitless blue horizon far in the distance.

There was a shadowy smudge though, lying along a seam in the terrain to the northwest. As their LAATi drew closer, falling into formation with several others, the smudge yawned wider, darkened, revealing it as one of the immense, city-sinkholes of Utapau. There was no blasterfire headed their way; a good sign. They weren't expected, at least not yet. The chasm grew huge beneath them as they passed the rim of it, and Rex pulled himself back inside the cabin, sliding his arm back around Ahsoka.

"Looks like we're going to get the jump on them," he told her, and the doors clanked partially open, letting in a stream of stark sunlight before they began their descent, down into the shadows of the sinkhole. The doors slid open the rest of the way, and the troopers in the cabin began to lean forward, softening their knees and bracing their feet against the floor for either a hard landing or a sudden leap to the ground.

They reached a metal walkway that stretched across the entrance to the Pau City landing bays. One of the men chuckled, "Time for some thrilling heroics," in the moment before Cody leapt out of the LAATi and onto the platform, closely followed by the troopers in his transport.

Rex and Ahsoka followed, edging out from their place in what was now the back of the LAATi, to leap across the half meter of space between the gunship's edge and the safety of the metal platform. Theirs was not the only ship hovering within reach of the walkway. Three other transports were unloading clone troopers. Each man disembarked by leaping, hitting the metal walkway with a thud and a rattle, then began pounding towards the center, towards Cody, and towards the battle already underway below.

General Kenobi's familiar form, enveloped in whirling sea green and sky blue, was deep in a Soresu stance, his blue lightsaber poised and defending against the spinning lightsabers in Grievous' metal hands. The remains of some droids were crushed under the bulk of a cargo module behind them, and there was little other sign of an extended battle. SBD's, B1's and rollies encircled the duelists, ready but standing by. Grievous had decided to engage the General himself.

Rex allowed himself a grim smile behind his helmet. By the looks of things, the battle had joined only recently, but Grievous had already lost two of his four limbs. Even from this distance, he could make out the glowing tips of two appendages, the metal hot where General Kenobi had sliced them through. Rex knew better than to get cocky early on – there were too many variables in a fight, and all too often whatever could go wrong, would go wrong – but so far, it seemed that luck, the Force, or both were with them today.

The first blue bolts of Republic fire began, interrupting the duel on the ground of the hangar bay. There was a brief moment when the two combatants paused to take in the arrival of the 212th, but both General Kenobi and General Grievous knew better than to turn their attention too far away from an opponent in the middle of a fight.

The droids surrounding them, however, reevaluated where they should be pointing their blasters at, and swung around, leaving Kenobi and Grievous to their duel. Return fire erupted from the landing platform as the area exploded into battle; clone troopers began rappelling down from the walkway, clearing the space for more drop ships to deposit more clones. Several vulture droids took off, rushing out into the giant sinkhole, in an attempt to meet the incoming fighters in the air. They were met with turbolaser fire from those same fighters, and though a few slipped through the Republic lines, several exploded or caught fire and crashed into the sinkhole's walls.

Ahsoka tugged on his arm, once, in warning, before Rex felt her skip them across the space between the walkway and the platform, reappearing close to General Kenobi. Grievous was advancing on the General, his navy blue and scarlet aura billowing menacingly around him, but Kenobi was already mid-motion. He thrust a hand outward, the blue-green spirit-light around it crackling like a globe of ball lightning as it slammed into Grievous' gut, sending him flying upward into another cargo module. The Force push was powerful enough that it jarred Grievous' entire cybernetic body, so much so that the two remaining lightsabers in his hands were shaken loose, the unlit hilts dropping to the floor with a clatter.

He fell with a roar, and then the eerie clatter of many metallic limbs as he clamored towards a wheel bike. General Kenobi was fast behind him, and Ahsoka spun, yanking Rex along in an attempt to keep up with them. Grievous, though, had landed too far ahead, and was flipping himself up into the wheel bike's pilot seat before General Kenobi could close the distance. The wheel bike spun to life, a cackling General Grievous at its controls, then proceeded to charge off its' docking platform and run General Kenobi down.

There was no real need for Rex to propel himself forward and topple himself and Ahsoka off the platform they stood on, some few meters behind General Kenobi. The wheel bike would have raced straight through them, but the instinct to dive out of the way when a large, dangerous armed vehicle was flying at him was too strong. Wrapping an arm around Ahsoka, he flipped them off the platform just as General Kenobi leapt out of the way, rolling onto the floor nearby. Rex could hear others, less fortunate, a moment later. The first sound was the mechanized screech of a battle droid. The next was the wetter, more human cry of a clone trooper overrun by the spinning, spiked cycle.

Ahsoka must have heard it too, because she winced in his arms, even as she climbed back to her feet, hauling him up behind her. They were slightly below the main platform, and their vantage point was near parallel to the main battle line; blue fire was slamming into the droids, troopers advancing slowly, inexorably forward, but with little ground cover. There was nowhere to hide, either for the droids or for the men. They simply tore into each other, with reinforcements stepping forward to replace every combatant that fell. LAATi dropped more clones down onto the platform, while more droids boiled up from within the depths of the hangar bay and the city in the sinkhole. Every man who rushed out in an attempt to push forward the line did so at great peril, and though the ground was littered with broken, flaming droids, there were also too many forms in battered white, scattered across the ground. The air was clogged with spirit-lights peeling away from bodies and dissipating, rising up into the air in an array of colors before drifting away. In such a context, the many-colored display of rising luminosity was chilling.

A sharp whistle cut through the air, and an undulating bellow answered it. They spun just in time to see General Kenobi leap up onto the back of a green varactyl and take off, swift in pursuit of Grievous.

Ahsoka took one step forward, then stopped, hesitating. Rex grit his teeth, then looked again at the battle raging beside them. Ahsoka's hand tightened around his, and her aurora-shades flickered in agitation.

Follow Kenobi, or support the clone army?

Rex knew which Ahsoka wanted to do. Grievous was the target of this attack, and they came to aid General Kenobi. She wanted to go after them, and Rex could not help but admit to himself he wanted it too. To bear witness to the end of the war, to make sure that General Kenobi won.

But it wasn't the wiser choice, and he knew that was why Ahsoka hesitated as well. General Kenobi was in a one-on-one, high speed fight with General Grievous. They would have a great deal of difficulty being of assistance on the back of a varactyl or clinging to the spiked armor of a wheel bike. On the ground, though not invincible, General Kenobi had an edge. It was likely they were not needed in the duel between Jedi and cyborg, but they were very much needed here, as more clones fell as they pushed forward. The Separatists had two days to settle in here, build defenses. Even if their defeat was inevitable, it would be a long, ugly battle full of death.

And if Grievous did prevail over the General, the responsibility to contain him would fall to Cody. If the 212th was overwhelmed or barely hanging on to their positions, a triumphant Grievous could lead a rally.

That couldn't happen. There could be no escape.

Ahsoka tensed beside him, her montrals dipping as she lowered her head. When she finally looked at him, blue eyes hard and determined, he knew she'd reached the same conclusion he had.

This had to be the end.

As General Kenobi leapt over the edge of the landing platform on his dragonmount, the two ghosts turned towards the rest of the battle, and moved forward.

* * *

><p>On Coruscant, a man in dark robes stood in a high Council chamber, looking out over the vast, glittering expanse of a city at dusk. Fading sunlight glanced off rooftops and along transparasteel panes, turning the domes and windows of spacescrapers into a river of molten light. Night was oncoming in the east, stars and city lights emerging into the evening.<p>

He stood, and looked out, and knew what was happening not so far away. Four men went to confront another, and the future of the galaxy hung in the balance over the confrontation's outcome.

Though he did not know it, he was not alone in the room. There was no living presence to sense, no footfall to hear against the floor. Neither did he feel a hand fall upon his shoulder, or a puff of breath against his ear. And when some words formed in the back of his mind, in a voice that didn't seem to be quite his own, he could not help but pay them heed; the words were true. "_She needs you_," the whisper went, and perhaps it was that simple.

He'd lost his mother. He'd lost his apprentice. He would not fail again. Something must be done.

Anakin Skywalker made a choice, turned from the window, and left.

The one left standing in his absence turned to the oncoming night, placed his hands behind his back, and smiled.

* * *

><p>Silly me, thinking I'd get Order 66 into this chapter. Sigh. It will definitely be in the next one.<p>

~Queen


	25. What Tragedy Means

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>"<em>We are tragedians, you see?<em>

_We follow directions. _

_There is no choice involved._

_The bad end unhappily, the good, unluckily._

_That is what tragedy means."_

_- The Player, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_

* * *

><p>Chapter 24. What Tragedy Means<p>

* * *

><p>There were many times, since his death, that Rex wished he had his blasters.<p>

This was one such time. Since he could not shoot the oncoming spider droids himself, he instead turned, plunged one luminous blue-gold arm into the fiery red-orange colors of another trooper, and roared, "Incoming! Poppers! From behind!" into his ear.

They'd learned, in the time since the battle began, that it was best if Rex did the yelling. The voice of a woman was unexpected on this particular battlefield, occupied as it was by male clone troopers and led by a male Jedi General. Rex's voice matched almost every other, and it was heavily ingrained with the accent of authority and tenor of command. Hearing such a voice shouting orders created instant obedience, rather than a puzzled pause of bewilderment, while the trooper in question tried to figure out who was telling him to do what.

Ahsoka found it frustrating, and though Rex sympathized, there was little time for lamenting it. His voice was more effective, and that efficacy saved lives.

The trooper encased in the red-orange aura spun, unclipping two droid poppers from his belt and throwing them in a single, fluid motion. They hit the ground with a metallic clatter and rolled, just as the spindly legs of the spider droids pulled their armed domes up over the rim of the platform. Their crimson ocular arrays targeted the team of clones swarming the ATX energy pillar and fixing detonators to its' base, rather than to the pair of unassuming metal canisters rolling under their bodies. Before the droids' blaster cannons could lock onto a target, those canisters erupted into a crackling electricity field, and the pair of droids reared back, flailing their forward legs as they shuddered and their targeting arrays went dark. They crashed down, then slid back off the platform.

Another spider droid, accompanied by a trio of SBD's rose to take their place, but this time there were more men turned the right way, at the right time, and one of them was wielding a chaingun. Blue blasterfire churned out the end, catching the approaching droids dead-on and mowing them down.

"Done! Move out!" the leader of the team of troopers shouted, and the group of six men bolted forward, the chaingun wielder in the lead, clearing a path through the oncoming wave of droids. Rex hesitated, looking back over his shoulder. There were more droids converging on their position, a pair of droidekas in the lead, but even if they were able to take out the team of troopers, the damage was all but done; droidekas wouldn't be capable of removing the charges with their blasters-for-fingers, and the B1's backing them up were too far behind. The team was working its way beyond the blast radius. A few more seconds and they'd be clear for detonation. Red laser bolts winged through the air; most flew wide, though one struck the lattermost of the clone team, and he spun within a swirl of green and silver spirit-light, the luminosity of his aura lifting skyward as his body crumpled to the ground.

One of his teammates screamed something incomprehensible, half turned back as he ran and standing witness to his brother's death. He turned fully and opened fire, shooting wildly into the mass of droids giving chase.

Beside him, Ahsoka cursed, and Rex found himself flickering forward, crossing the meters between the energy pillar's platform and the screaming trooper in an instant. Ahsoka pulled him forward, then pushed him at the man, and Rex obliged, stretching out his voice, pitching it through his aura and projecting it into the air. "You're no good to him dead, too! Run!"

For a moment, Rex thought he'd have to yell again, but then the trooper wavered and began to pull back. Abruptly, he turned, then bolted forward, rushing to catch up to the remainder of his team, now several dozen meters ahead and taking cover behind a pile of cargo crates. The closer he got, the better their cover fire protected him, and he slid into their defensive line, took up an empty space, and again opened fire.

One word rang out from the team leader. "Clear!"

Then the energy pillar exploded.

The droids rushing towards the pillar were caught up in the blast, a white-hot inferno of exploding electricity and ordinance. The boom rattled the walls, the ceiling, and the floor, jolting not a few droids from their feet as the overpressure radiated outward. A second explosion sounded, deeper within the pillar's platform, this time shooting a jet of red flame and oily black smoke straight up into the air. Metal shrapnel whistled out, pieces half molten, jagged. They lodged themselves in the ceiling, walls, floor, and bodies of droids.

The shockwave of energy and heat swept through Rex with a warm shudder, and he looked back at the team of five yellow-striped troopers. Their leader, a man with a lieutenant's stripes on his armor, wasn't giving them any time to rest; he tossed the detonator in his hand aside, then began urging the rest of the team to move. The side of the crates facing the explosion was flecked with burning bits of debris. The five men fell into formation, weapons out as they ran across the lower level and towards another platoon of clone troopers, an exit, and relative safety.

The droids still standing were in disarray, either firing after the retreating clone troopers, or trying to regroup around command droids. The roar of the inferno rumbled through the air, the heat rippling as it expanded beyond the column of silky orange flames. It lit the vast cavern luridly, the dark corners and vaulted ceiling of the lower hangar awash in firelight.

Ahsoka stiffened. He could feel her sudden tension, a fresh wave of alertness. Her eyes closed halfway, her head tilted, and the dark tips of her montrals twitched as her aura expanded, electric blue flickering over vibrant green, soft edges reaching out, seeking something.

She straightened abruptly, with a small gasp and a broad smile. "Can you hear it?" she asked him, but he could only shake his head. There was only the sound of the inferno melting through the remains of the energy pillar's consoles, and the blasterfire exchanged by clones and surviving droids.

He had only a moment's warning, and that came from his familiarity with Ahsoka and the slight changes in her expressions. Her smile took on an additional edge of delight, as though she was about to tell him some good news, or show him something exciting – and a moment later, she did.

The dull roar of the immolating energy pillar disappeared as Ahsoka moved them from one space to another, and the sound was replaced by the powerful, undulating warble of a victorious varactyl. They reappeared remarkably close to the green and blue scales of the creature, and were forced to take a step back as the reptavian flexed her muscles, rearing and tossing the feathery crest on her head.

Sitting on the dragonmount's back, wreathed in all the radiant colors of the sea, was a battered, but very much alive, General Kenobi.

Ahsoka's next words seemed to give some finality to what must have happened. "He did it," she said softly, sounding at first awed and stunned, but as she said it again, her voice melted into the strength of pride and relief, and a ferocious grin spread across her face. "He did it!"

Rex's first impulse was to celebrate; it was only a matter of time, now, before the battle ended. With Dooku and Grievous both dead, the Separatist army's back was broken and the war virtually over. They had no command structure. They won. The Republic won.

He laughed once, feeling his shoulders shake at the motion, even though his gut wrenched at the thought of the last three and a half years. So many dead, and so many worries left, about the future, about General Skywalker, about the Chancellor, about friends scattered throughout the galaxy. There would still be fighting with the remnant of the Separatist fleet. They needed to end the battle still raging around them. There was still death and suffering in the future. But this - this was what he was born for. This was what all of his brothers were born for, this very moment.

The relief that Ahsoka expressed in words seemed to fill him so completely, he bent forward, closing his eyes. A thin arm slipped around his shoulders and hugged him, gentle and close. A face was pressed into the crook of his neck, and a small nose poked into the soft chink between the bottom rim of his helmet and the ridge of his pauldron, seeking out the part of his neck that was uncovered by armor. He hugged her back, and felt her laugh once, sharply, and he couldn't decide whether it sounded happy from the impending victory or sad from the thought of all that had been sacrificed.

General Kenobi's voice lifted above the furor of nearby battle, rich and steady. "Thank you, Cody. Now let's get a move on. We have a battle to win, here."

Kenobi was right, of course. If he were alive, he wouldn't be indulging himself in a moment of sentimentality like this – Cody wasn't. Cody still had a battle to fight, to finish. But as word spread, and the realization grew, Rex knew that sentimentality of hope, of anticipation, of victory, would buoy every man and propel him forward.

They won.

Rex smiled, and let himself be glad.

General Kenobi's lightsaber ignited in his hand, bright and blue and humming, and he charged forward again. Rex lifted his head from where it leaned against Ahsoka's, and tracked the course Kenobi was on; there was a command station across the sinkhole, still holding out despite the foothold Cody had established around the sinkhole's perimeter. With that station also eliminated, there would be no one left in charge, and what coordination was left would dissolve into chaos. The recent destruction of the energy pillar left the Seps without any way of maintaining a supply of energy to the battle droids. They were running on whatever energy was left in their power cells until they were either destroyed or forced to shut down. It wouldn't be long, now.

A pitched beeping interrupted his thoughts, and he turned his attention back to Cody, who was drawing out his imagecaster in response to the hail. A hooded and robed figure shimmered to life out of the projection unit, little more than a handspan tall. Ahsoka shifted in his arms, lifting her head as she turned to look back over the unfolding scene. "Who?" she began, puzzled, but grew silent as she twisted further, trying to get a better look. Rex frowned slightly, unable to recognize the figure from behind. It wasn't a clone, and it wasn't General Kenobi.

The voice, though, when he heard it, sent a chill of recognition through him. Low and thin but possessing the utter power of unquestioned authority, the Chancellor said, "Commander Cody. The time has come. Execute Order 66."

The amber colored light that encircled Cody so brightly died to the barest flicker.

In his response, Cody did not hesitate. There was no sadness in his words, no uncertainty, no shock or disbelief. There was only the quiet resolution of a commander given orders he could not refute.

"Yes, my lord."

The holoprojector in his hand swtiched off, and the translucent blue figure of the Chancellor disappeared.

Ahsoka's voice was confused. "Rex, what's Order 66? I don't know that one."

If Rex had been about to move forward, to follow an order he did not want to, to draw a weapon he did not have, that motion was halted by the innocent question of the young woman still half in his arms. If he stopped, Ahsoka did not. She began to move forward, stretching an arm out towards Cody even as she walked, slipping further out of his embrace. "His light's going out," she said, with a slow tinge of fear beginning to creep into her voice. "Rex, that was the Chancellor." She stopped for a moment to turn back and look at him with startled eyes, seemingly unable to settle on anger, protectiveness, or horror. She took a half step back towards him, placed a hand on the side of his helmet as though it was his cheek, and looked him up and down. He lowered his gaze, realizing some of the luminosity that enveloped him was fading as well. Just as it had the last time he heard the Chancellor give an order, just as the last time he felt impossibly compelled to obey. Ahsoka's voice was as frightened as it was commanding when he heard it again. Her hand tightened on his helmet, and she shook him once, asking for answers, looking into the black strip of his visor as though she could see straight through to his eyes. "What did he tell you to do? Rex, _what is Order 66_?"

He was dead. He didn't have to follow the Chancellor's orders anymore. The Chancellor who had an aura as malignant as Dooku, a traitor to the Jedi, to the Republic.

To each his own. He could choose who he wanted to protect. His own family, his own friends. Ahsoka's face was so close, so frightened, but struggling to keep control of that fear. Her eyes were so blue and so wide, so determined. She wasn't supposed to be frightened. So few things in the galaxy could scare her. She was fearless to a point where she was reckless with her own safety, but she was afraid for him. He looked at Cody, the illumination around him dull and low, more brown than gleaming bronze. She was afraid for Cody, too. Afraid for what the Chancellor had just commanded of them, and she should be.

Cody was turning, lifting a hand towards a nearby AT-TE walker. It was in a defensive position, poised to take out any enemy fire coming from above, from the sky beyond the sinkhole.

It was also well placed to take aim at a single man wreathed in serene blue and cool green, mounted on the back of a swift footed varactyl, climbing the rocky wall of the sinkhole towards the place that would truly end this battle for them all.

There was no thought involved, when Rex leapt them from their spot near Cody to that AT-TE a dozen meters away on the platform. His only plan was to interrupt, to stop the cannon, to make it misfire, to stop the death of at least the one Jedi that was in front of them, even as, across the galaxy, others would be cut down, one by one.

They arrived half inside the cramped, roof-mounted cockpit of the walker, torsos emerging straight out of the command console in front of the mass-driver cannon's gunner. Rex reached out with one hand, expanded and deepened the luminosity around him until it reached the narrow band of visible light that humans could see, and let his voice carry through the cockpit with the ring of as much authority and command as he could muster. "_No!_"

Rex didn't know the man – he was 212th – but at the sight of the specter of a dead clone Captain boiling up out of his command console and clawing its' way towards him with a thunderous howl, his green-red spirit-light reeled, and he jerked backward on the controls just as the cannon fired.

There was a moment of silence, as the echo of the cannon's fire faded, and the gunner with yellow stripes on his armor and an aura of swirling garnet and jade sat and stared at the apparition before him. His hands were extended, bracing him against the armored walls of the gun turret, and he'd flung himself as far back in his seat as he could, spine arching to get away from the wraith that, a moment ago, seemed to be clamoring for him.

He could not remember a time when one of his brothers was afraid of him. Afraid of failing him, maybe, or not reaching the goals he laid out for them in a battle, but not afraid of him as a person. The trooper's chest was rising and falling, his breathing heavy with alarm. There were no words to say, to calm him, to reassure him. No wise platitudes to inform him of the great mistake that was even now being enacted on the galaxy. He lowered his head, and felt Ahsoka's free hand come up to his shoulder and begin to pull him back, away.

"It's not right," Rex told the man as he faded and withdrew. "It's not right."

Rex couldn't see the man's eyes widen behind the black slash of his visor, but he did see the glitter of his aura sharpen, brighten, while his body relaxed back into the seat, as though some fear had slipped away.

A moment later, Ahsoka was pulling him up through the walker's roof to stand on top of it, looking out over the sinkhole. There was a black pockmark of char smeared across the far wall of the cavern, not quite to the command station.

There was a question in her eyes, and he wasn't sure how to answer it yet. Not the greater question, at least. "Do you think he made it?" she asked quietly.

It was such a long way, to the bottom of an Utapau sinkhole.

Was it just a moment ago, everything looked like it was going to be alright? The melee behind them was still ongoing, the deep booms of ordinance underpinning the sharper, staccato tattoo of blasterfire. More troopers were being deposited by more gunships, and the rush of men seemed endless. The small Republic command area there at the lip of the hangar bay, though heavily defended, was still taking the occasional stray blaster shot. There was a strangeness to the fight now, though. The men moved, fought, but there was a tightness to the radiance around them, an uncertainty that was not there a few minutes ago. Cody stood amid them all, giving orders, moving them forward, commanding and taking the lead effortlessly, as all his years of training and experience taught him to do. But to Rex's eyes, his movements were mechanical, false and forced.

Rex's hand tightened around Ahsoka's smaller one, and he said, tensely, "Let's find out."

They moved forward together, disappearing from the top of the AT-TE and then reappearing at the bottom of the sinkhole, floating just above the surface of one of the many deep pools at the sinkhole's base. Their toes dangled a bare inch above the blue water. Rex turned to the right, while Ahsoka turned to the left, scanning for any sign of life. If Kenobi had landed on one of the rocky protrusions between the pools, there was no chance of survival. He'd have broken in half. If he'd managed to splash down in one of the lakelets, and not snap his neck, there was a chance he was alive. General Kenobi had almost as many lives as General Skywalker; if there was anyone capable of surviving that drop, he would be the one.

Ahsoka's voice was almost breathless when she gasped, "There!" and he found himself skip several dozen meters across the sinkhole's floor to hover over a slowly moving blur of aquamarine light, swimming just beneath the surface. Fabric billowed around the form, and it was slowly gliding towards the surface, eventually emerging in the shadows of a steep canyon wall. General Kenobi surfaced from the water and clung to the rough stone cliff, tucking his rebreather back into his belt and hanging just long enough to take a gulp of air, before he began hauling himself upward.

He let Ahsoka lead him, set them drifting forward and slowly upward in sync with the progress General Kenobi made. He climbed slowly, grunting as he stretched for each handhold, tested each foothold. The seaside colors around him were strange, sometimes expanding widely, other times growing small and tight around him, and he'd pause in his movements to bend his head, breathe heavily, and wince.

Some fifty meters up the rock face was the entrance to the lowest level of Pau City. It would not be a safe area, dark and likely occupied with cave-dwelling creatures that would be happy to fill their bellies with a weary Jedi. But it would also be unoccupied by either Separatist battle droids or by clone troopers, whose loyalty no longer lay with the Jedi. General Kenobi placed a hand on the ridge of the entrance's deck, and slowly pulled himself up over the edge, Rex and Ahsoka floating slowly along behind him.

For a moment, General Kenobi lay sprawled on the deck, simply breathing, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The moment, though, was a short one, and he rolled onto his side and began pushing himself upright, moving with the urgency of a man who knew the danger was not over, and his life was still on the line. Rex looked away from his gently lambent figure, working its way towards the dark cavern of Pau City's lowest level. Cody would know better than to assume the fall killed him. He'd either send a squad with scanners or a set of probe droids, most likely probes since there would be few men to spare mid-battle. He would perform these orders with as much exaction as he did any other. To appear otherwise would put his own life at risk, and those of others around him as well; you did not aid or abet those who were declared traitors.

"I don't understand this." Ahsoka's voice was tense, pained, and she was looking after the slowly fading spot of aquamarine light that was General Kenobi, as his spirit-light was slowly overwhelmed by the darkness. "Why, Rex? Why would he do this? Cody! _Why_?"

Her confusion and shock was slowly working its way into a sense of righteous anger, and the whirling aurora of colors around her was spinning more and more rapidly. Her slender hand was tight around his fingers, not quite to crushing, but indicative of her growing distress. Cody was a friend, like any other, a comrade in arms and a trusted ally. For her, it was enough. For her, it was so easy, to question authority, to challenge it. General Skywalker probably had some hand in that, but it wasn't the General's influence alone. Ahsoka was a Jedi, a Togruta. She was made from red clay, stardust and the Force. She was not a copy, not the result of spliced genes duplicated millions of times over. She was the product of craftsmanship, of the nurturing of a group of people dedicated to the betterment of all people. He was the product of an assembly line, not of nurture and care but of training, of drills, of a duty enforced on him. She was meant to defend the people of the Republic; he was meant to defend the institution itself, and whether it was led by a corrupt man or an honest one mattered not at all. It was this difference between them she had never fully understood, and though he was grateful that she saw him as no different from any other man, possibly even loved her for it, they were as different as the Dark and the Light.

When he spoke, his words were bitter, angry; not at her, she couldn't help what she was any more than he could, but it hurt. It hurt to understand why Cody did what he just did.

"Because he was given an order. We're clones. We follow orders. There is no choice involved. We do what we're told because that's all we've ever done. Loyalty, dedication, faith, sacrifice, that's what matters."

Would he have done the same? Turned against Ahsoka? Against General Skywalker? Ahsoka was beyond the reach of this order now, far beyond it, but was someone turning on the General? Killing him too? Was Appo even now opening fire and gunning him down, as the order spread across the galaxy, from one communication relay to another, then on to the imagecasters and holoprojectors of every clone commander, every trooper in the GAR? Appo would open fire. They all would, even the good ones. Good ones like Cody. Good ones like Bly, Gree, Wolffe, Fox. Or would their Jedi recognize in time what was happening, and fight back? How many Jedi were striking down his brothers in their own defense?

How many would think to question? How many would think something was wrong, wonder why those they trusted implicitly a moment before were now turncoats to be slaughtered?

"Independence is for being able to lead when there are no other leaders. Creativity is only for battle, for creating better ways of killing. Courage is for running to the front of the fight, to look death in the face and to lead a charge into battle, not lead a charge of insubordination." His voice began to rise, sharp and angry as he looked out over the black maw of the cavern before them. "There is no challenging authority, there is no questioning, there is no _why_! The Chancellor is the highest authority, and he said so, and that's enough! "

Ahsoka was staring at him, with her impossibly blue eyes wide, stricken. It hurt. It hurt knowing his first impulse was also to obey, to strike against his designated target, to be unquestioning and thorough in his compliance, just as Cody was right now. It wasn't fair. It wasn't right.

A hand was placed on his shoulder, gently, but Ahsoka did not look at him. "You tried to follow his orders on the _Invisible Hand_. That's why you were so…." She flinched suddenly, her eyes squeezing shut.

"There is no choice involved." Rex lowered his head, closing his eyes momentarily before forcing them open again. "We've all been used, and this, this! This is what we were used for. I always knew there was an evil out there, even though I didn't know what it was. I don't know what's worse. The holocaust that was just declared against the Jedi, or the fact my brothers are carrying it out."

Ahsoka winced again, lifting a hand and placing her palm between her white brows. He grimaced at her pained motion, and felt the hurt in his chest deepen at her next, incredulous words. "Against the Jedi? Not just General Kenobi, but all of them?"

She didn't know the fullness of the meaning behind Order 66. The order was a contingency, unlikely to ever be enacted. There was no reason for him to immediately think of it, after realizing the Chancellor's intentions for the Republic were in doubt, but he felt a stab of helpless stupidity all the same. If the Chancellor was working alongside the Sith, then the destruction of the Jedi would have to be a goal. They all stood in his way; Kenobi would not be alone.

Ahsoka staggered then, groaning, and he slid an arm under hers, supporting her as she suddenly reeled, the luxurious cobalt and emerald colors of her aura suddenly paling, much as her face did. When she repeated the words, "All of them," it was not a question, and her hand slid from where it clutched her head to cover her mouth. When her hand slipped away from her lips to fall to her side, she said one single word with a terrified certainty.

"Home."

And they were gone.

* * *

><p>Thoughts?<p>

~Queen


	26. As Far as they Can Possibly Go

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>Generally speaking, things have gone about as far as they can possibly go, <em>

_when things have gotten about as bad as they can reasonably get."_

_- The Player, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead_

* * *

><p>Chapter 25. As Far as They Can Possibly Go<p>

* * *

><p>This was the place where she belonged.<p>

If the _Resolute_ was the home of her travels, then the Jedi Temple was the home of her childhood. She'd played in its hallways, ran from one hiding space to another during games of hide and seek. It had so many places to hide, since it was so big, and a little Togruta girl could fit into so many of them. It was the place where she grew up, trudged to her classes in the academy and learned the history of the Republic, learned how stars lived and died and how they burned brilliantly in between. It was the place where she raced to the sparring arena for practice, her training lightsaber in hand; the place that held the refectories where she would sit and eat meals with her youngling clan. It was the place that taught her to be a Jedi, made her what she was and who she was.

The great entrance to the Temple had always been impressive; it was the first glimpse most visitors had of the home of the Jedi, and it was meant to inspire awe, to capture the beauty of a Jedi's goals and ideals. It was meant to be a place of welcome as much as grandeur.

It was not meant to be marred by the blood of dead Jedi and dead clones. The column lined mezzanine stretched deep into the Temple ziggurat, the main entrance flowing into the great hall. Across the polished marble floors lay the bodies of the dead. They lay in scattered heaps, little groups of bodies laying where they fell, each Jedi trying to cover the back of their fellows. Dark holes could be seen in their bodies, flesh charred where blaster bolts struck them. Crumpled gracelessly in their heaps, those entry points could be seen from many angles; on chests, on backs, arms, legs, heads. The floor they lay upon was scarred and pockmarked, as were the great columns lining the entresol, black smears of carbon char freshly steaming across their surfaces. Here and there, the white armored forms of clone troopers lay sprawled, and the damage mapped across their bodies was a different sort; lightsabers carved wide tracks across chests, cut armor in half and sometimes bodies too. Missing limbs were not hard to find, as they were generally laying close by.

For all the blood there was, it was the smell that was the most powerful. Blasters and lightsabers both were high-energy particle weapons, weapons of plasma and heat. The smell of hot metal, smoke and melting plastoid was strong, but the smell of charred flesh stronger, sharper, more pervasive – more personal.

Ahsoka had no stomach to feel sick, but some part of her mind wished she could turn aside and vomit at the sight that welcomed her home. The entrance itself was silent, but the rattle of blasterfire was not far away; living troopers moved amongst the dead, men with the markings of medics. They did not stop for the Jedi, but only for the clone troopers, moving past and stepping over them as though they were not there. Their white armor was piped in blue. They were 501st, good men she knew and befriended, trusted and fought beside, _her_ men, systematically moving through her home and annihilating everyone who lived within it.

The battle was already over, or nearly. It had been only a few minutes since Cody received the order to kill Master Kenobi; even the highly trained clone troopers couldn't sweep through the Jedi Temple that swiftly on their own. The attack here began before the order reached Utapau.

Rex's hand felt heavy when it fell onto her shoulder. He was trying to sympathize, she knew. Trying to be kind. She could feel guilt-tinged _reassurance_ flowing from him, pain-laced _sympathy_. All the gesture did was make her aware she was trembling.

Beside the medics moving through the mezzanine, shrouded in their dull-colored auras, there was no brightness. No luminosity clung to the bodies laying broken on the floor. They had not visited the Temple often, since it was so rarely the place they were needed most, but in the instances they did, it was always full of such brightness. The somber coloration of the Temple's interior only served to contrast the intense palette provided by its residents, much as the industrial greys within the _Resolute_ provided a plain backdrop to the motley array of light provided by the clones.

The Temple normally felt like a night of Ullambana; warm and well lit against the pressing darkness, filled with individual lights that turned that darkness away. Now, though, those lights were gone, and the chill gloom of nightfall had replaced it. It was so cold.

Rex's hand slid from one shoulder to the other, and he pulled her more firmly against his side, as though he could lend her warmth to combat her shivering. She closed her eyes and looked away. Rex was a clone. She resisted a wince. Rex was a clone, yes, and a friend since the beginning. Right now, her dearest friend, a man she kissed under falling stars. Though even now he was trying to soften the blow for her in what very small way he could, she could feel his own _despair_, his _helplessness, anger_ and _frustration_. His family was murdering hers.

They couldn't keep standing here, in the draft of the open doorway. They'd learned they weren't helpless. The sound of distant blasterfire puncturing the air indicated there were still battles ongoing. Where was Master Skywalker? He was supposed to be here. Master Yoda should be on Kashyyyk, but where was Master Windu? She didn't know where, precisely, everyone was supposed to be at any given time, but there were always a few Masters on the premises. Where were they?

Her first steps forward were shaky, slow. She focused on slowing the trembling, walking straight and calm, breathing in deeply. Meditation was never her favorite subject, but she drew on the knowledge she had of it to calm her nerves, to steady herself. She paused, feeling Rex draw even with her, and she slowly breathed back out, letting her _fear_ flow back into the Force.

It felt so much like the Temple. The Force, so vast and powerful, felt so cold, so void of light and warmth, as though every star had gone out. It was unnatural, wrong. Ahsoka drew her mind away from that yawning maw of growing emptiness and moved forward again. There was work to be done, a battle still to be fought.

She approached the first cluster of bodies sprawled on the ground, knelt, made herself look at them. There were three; an elderly Nautolan man, his head tresses thin and frail with age. The other two were human females. One was also elderly; the last was, in Ahsoka's judgment, no more than twelve standard years, just within the limits of adolescence. Older Jedi, retired from the field or occupied in academic pursuits, were common sights in the Temple, and in event of an attack, they would have been early responders. Why an Initiate not yet of Padawan age was lying dead in what must have been the frontal assault was bizarre. She should have been sent to safety, to the crèche if necessary, to keep her safe while the adults attempted to repel the attack.

There was something else wrong with her. Ahsoka bit her lip, breathed in again sharply, battering back an increasing feeling of wrongness. The girls' eyes were brown, irises still visible since her eyes were only half closed, and Ahsoka wished her translucent fingers could close them for her properly. The girl's dark, intensely curly hair spilled loose from its fastener, swirling around her cheeks and neck. Just below her breastbone, under the edge of the curling hair, was the entry point of a blaster bolt.

Ahsoka's frown intensified, her white brows drawing together as her lekku began to twitch in denial. The hole was too big; too round, too neat, and the fibers of clothing were singed off in a perfect blackened circle, not in a ragged, dirty rip. It wasn't right. Rex vocalized it first. "That's not a blaster mark."

She'd seen this kind of wound before. She'd made them. Someone had stabbed the girl straight through with a lightsaber.

She reared back, into Rex's chest, and he gripped her, held her still. The Sith. The Sith was _here_. Palpatine ordered the clones to destroy the Jedi and allowed a krething _Sith lord_ to lead them! There could be no quarter in such a situation. The clones wouldn't kill children – not even Jedi children. Would they?

The Sith wouldn't spring out from behind a column, waving his red bladed lightsaber at her, but she scanned the area nonetheless. The only movement was from the pair of medics still checking to ensure the casualties were not in fact the injured. "The Sith is here."

"Lightsaber wound."

"Yes."

His arms tightened around her, but only momentarily. He released her, slowly, and she clenched her teeth. It was so easy to be angry, not only at Palpatine and at the Sith, but at herself. They should have gone straight to Master Skywalker, smacked some sense into him if he protested that the Chancellor was trustworthy, then dragged Master Kenobi, Windu and Yoda in. They could have stopped this before it happened, warned them, but they wanted evidence. Gathering evidence was the right thing to do, getting proof was the right procedure, but this happened. They should have warned Anakin. Explained they were working on the evidence, that it was coming, to at least be wary. They should have asked him to trust her, to trust Rex.

It was so cold, and growing colder. She shivered again, trying to fight away the urge to cry. It all felt so wrong, and there was so much happening at once. So much she could have prevented with a few different choices.

Rex's free hand was on her shoulder again, shaking her gently to draw her attention. "We have to keep moving. This isn't our fault, Ahsoka. We underestimated the Chancellor, but he ordered this, and he's the one to blame. But we're no help just standing here. That's a youngling. Ahsoka, where would the younglings be put for safety?"

"The crèche," she replied automatically, then frowned. If the mysterious Sith lord they'd been looking for had finally revealed himself, he would anticipate that. If the point of this invasion truly was to exterminate the Jedi, the crèche would be one of the first targets. She shuddered at the thought. No, the youngest would be sent away from specifically targeted areas. If it were possible, they'd be smuggled out of the Temple and into the undercity to disperse, disappear and evacuate. She and Rex could work as guides, misdirecting troopers and ensuring Jedi avoided them. However, few would have dreamed the Temple itself would be overrun. Ahsoka knew exactly how elite the 501st was, how effective they would be. There were only two options for non-combatants in an invasion: run or hide. If someone chose instead to hide the younglings in hopes of the Jedi turning the troopers back, they could be trapped within the Temple. They had to get them out. If they didn't try to escape, then what place was safer than the crèche? "No. The Council chamber."

He nodded once, and she returned the gesture, grimly. The ruin of bodies and marble columns disappeared from around them, and was replaced by the glittering skyline of Coruscant's night, provided by the view out of the wide windows.

And then there were newer, smaller bodies, discarded hilts of training sabers scattered among them.

She could not even scream. The sound of battle from below was silenced by the distance from the main ziggurat and the high summit of the Council Tower, and there was an unearthly quiet in the room.

The sight that lay before her was replaced with that of a swirling cerulean aura threaded with gold, and a polished white and blue chestplate loomed large in her vision as she was drawn up against it. Then the chamber was gone, and Rex's arms were around her, pressing her closer first at her waist, then mid-back, before one gauntleted hand slipped behind her head. The trembling that had not truly left her since her arrival in the entranceway suddenly became severe, and her body shook as she slowly wrapped her arms around Rex's back, found grooves in his armor with which to cling to, and held on. She couldn't scream; the sound caught in her throat and turned into a gag and a gasp.

Rex's grasp on her was near to crushing. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"They're younglings." She rasped, slipping her chin up, over his shoulder, but turned her neck in towards his helmet. If she held on hard enough, the shaking seemed to slow. She buried her face in his pauldron, and her words were muffled as she choked. "They're just younglings. Who would do this? What kind of monster would _do_ this?"

The Sith were the ancient enemies of Jedi, she knew. She knew too of the atrocities they were attributed, though she had not, perhaps, paid as much attention as she should have to her history classes. She'd fought Dark Jedi like Asajj Ventress for years, knew entirely what such people were capable of, the murder and the torture and the violence, but the wholesale slaughter of the most helpless kind of beings seemed unreal. These were not people caught up in a crossfire of a battle, not Jedi struggling to defend themselves, but untrained, helpless children armed only with _training sabers_, little more than fancy blunt sticks, against a Sith with a lightsaber and murder in mind.

Her fingers tightened on Rex's armor, clutching until her fingers hurt. Used. They'd all been used. She was too blind to see it, but the Chancellor – the Chancellor did this. The Chancellor and the Sith.

Rex's grip on her changed, loosening subtly as he shifted, easing away. She could not see his eyes, but his head was inclined past her, the dark strip of his visor lowered towards the floor. He inclined his head, slowly, towards the ground, and slid one hand from her back to gesture. "Look."

They were in one of the many communication rooms. It was dark but for the faint glow of sleeping computer systems, their usually bright activity lights dim. Control modules ringed the room, powered down, and only a single stellar map remained lit upon the cartography arrays, showing a stark white swirl of stars against the shadows. The larger portion of the room was dominated by the massive holoprojector in its center. Powered off, only a few, tiny amber lights around its control center remained on, fading in and out as the device slept, almost as though it could breathe.

To normal eyes, there would appear to be nothing amiss in the empty room. A Jedi not overwhelmed by the cold grasp of the darkening Force may have sensed the small peculiarity. But to the two ghosts, able to see the spirit-light glowing off every living being, the stripe of luminescent blue-purple running down the side of the holoprojector's lower half was as bright as a signal flare.

* * *

><p>This was yet another chapter I had to divide up, due to length. The next chapter picks up exactly where this one leaves off.<p>

~Queen


	27. An Act of Faith

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>"<em>Certainly <em>**Star Wars**_ has a valid mythological perspective. _

_It shows the state as a machine and asks, "Is the machine going to crush humanity or serve humanity?" _

_Humanity comes not from the machine but from the heart."_

_Joseph Campbell, 'The Power of Myth'_

* * *

><p>Chapter 26. An Act of Faith<p>

* * *

><p>Ahsoka bolted forward, Rex anticipating her movement and falling into step beside her as she ran for the holoprojector. It was a large one, a full five meters in diameter. When turned on, it would be capable of producing full scale images of most sentient beings. The control pads and monitors that ringed the top formed a ridge around the base, which consisted of a series of access panels for technicians to perform repairs. One of the access panels was ajar, but only just; in the darkness, the finger-width of space would seem perfectly black against the shadows under the projector's upper lip. It was from that thin stripe of space the fearfully flickering spirit-light came.<p>

She dropped to her knees, Rex following, and ran a nervously flickering, lambent hand over the edge of the panel. So close, so focused on that one spot, Ahsoka could feel it: the _terror_ and incomprehensible _loneliness_ of a survivor, hiding alone in a tiny crawlspace.

She pushed her head through the surface of the panel, and found the curled up form of the Togrutan girl she once thought to take as a Padawan someday: Ashla of the Bear Clan. Her breathing was ragged, her knees tucked up to the ashy tips of her twitching lekku. Her back was pressed in as far as it could fit among the cables and wires of the holoprojector, and her arms were wrapped around her folded legs. There was a lightsaber hilt clutched in her hands, far too big and ornate to be that of a child's training saber; she'd salvaged one from a fallen adult. There was black char smudged across the soft white rectangles patterned on her face, and some of that grime was smeared from streaks of tears still on her cheeks. Her dark grey eyes were enormous, staring at the panel in front of her as though it could be ripped away any moment.

Ahsoka nearly cried out in relief at the sight of the terrified girl, but instead she pulled back, then leaned forward, resting her forehead against the holoprojector's upper ridge. "It's Ashla," she said after a moment, trying to calm herself enough to think clearly. "She's Togruta. About nine standard years. She's got someone's lightsaber. We've got to get her out of here."

Rex nodded once in understanding, then lifted his head and looked towards the steps leading to the room's entrance. "Reveal ourselves to her?"

Ahsoka glanced back down at the dark panel and the strip of dancing blue-purple gleaming out from it. Two ghosts appearing out of nowhere would scare her – especially if one was a clone, considering what had been going on in the Temple. Ashla knew her though. Hopefully could trust her. She should be the only one to go visible. They could find a way to guide her into the lower levels, then out into the undercity. Problem was, she wasn't sure on what level of the Tower of First Knowledge she was on; there were no windows in this chamber, she couldn't even estimate. They'd have to scout ahead, return for her, and keep repeating the process, ensuring they led any troopers away while she worked towards the hangars and docking bays. It would not be easy, but it would be better than waiting for the inevitable here, however well concealed.

Rex's hand tensed around hers, and she lifted her head over the edge of the holoprojector to follow his gaze. The doorway to the communication chamber was open, and there was a dull light spilling through it, creating a path of grey illumination down the shallow, broad steps that led into the room. A single clone trooper was silhouetted there, his blaster in hand, cocked casually up towards the ceiling, while his head was tilted to one side, reading a scanner in his left hand. He lingered there a long moment, then a second trooper, this one without a scanner, stepped into view, just behind them. They hesitated, then the man with the scanner turned towards the open doorway and stepped inside.

Ahsoka frowned. They were moving fast. On another day, she would have welcomed the efficiency. "Bioscanners." She scowled as the two men began to move down the steps into the communication room, their luminosity – one green-brown, the other yellow-grey – adding fresh light to the room. She shot a look at Rex. "Ideas?"

The two moved around the room, the one with the scanner in the lead, the one with only a blaster a couple steps behind, guarding his back. Rex gestured at the pair. "That's Chopper and Gus." They walked slowly, methodically around the room, the heavy tread of their boots loud in the silence. The low lighting of the computer consoles provided just enough light to make their scruffy white armor seem spectral in the darkness. They drifted past the glowing stellar map, shapes dark against the cool brightness of it.

Chopper spoke first, voice crackling over his helmet's speakers. "Anything?"

There was a pause, and a stab of _annoyance_ from Gus. "Not sure. There's some interference from all the systems in the room. Might just be the receiver." He made a vague gesture towards the holoprojector with his blaster. From within the holoprojector, there was a fresh spike of _fear_, and Ahsoka looked towards the flickering light emitted from the crack in the panel.

"He seems half convinced already," Ahsoka told Rex, and with a brief nod of agreement, they moved forward together, approaching Gus and his bioscanner, falling into step with him so that Rex could walk alongside.

Rex reached out and placed a hand on Gus' shoulder, speaking calmly and somewhat despairingly, as though he were frustrated with the results of the bioscan, mimicking Gus' irritable tone. "If there was a Jedi in the room, they would have attacked already. There's nowhere to hide. It's empty. The holoprojector's transmission systems are just messing with the bioscanner's receiver. There's nothing here."

Over his speakers, there was a heavy sigh as Gus clipped the bioscanner onto his belt. "It's got to be the room's transmission systems. I don't see anything through night vision, do you?"

In unison, the two men turned in opposite directions, visually sweeping the room, blasters ready. The computer consoles continued to slowly blink at them, and the stellar map hung, bright and translucent, on its array between two of the control modules. Chopper twitched, then shook his head. "I've got nothing."

Another voice called from behind, "You sure about that?"

All four turned to see another pair of troopers descending the steps, the one in lead with his blaster ready for firing. Nearly every clone no longer considered a shiny decorated his armor, and the large, Galactic Roundel patterned across the top of Jesse's helmet was particularly distinctive; the carmine of his luminosity only served to highlight it further, the sharp gleaming edges of his brightness reflecting a contrasting navy hue. The teardrop designs on Tup's armor were different from Jesse's but no less recognizable, and the shapes stood clearly against the soft-cornered viridian and citrine haze of light haloing him. The electric blue wash of his bioscanner's display cast deep shadows up into the curves of his helmet, reflecting coolly off the black of his visor and around the curves of his helmet's air filtration chambers.

"I thought I had something on the scan," Tup continued, lifting his bioscanner to eye level and turning slowly as it checked the room.

Gus snorted, then shrugged. "I thought I did too, but there's not anywhere to hide in here." He gestured broadly towards the open room, then to the computer consoles, as Jesse and Tup began their own walk around.

A brief shot of _irritability_ informed Ahsoka of Rex's opinion on the unfolding discussion. It wouldn't be easy to control the drift of a four-person conversation. She nudged Rex's arm with her elbow, directing him towards Tup. Gus still seemed convinced the room was empty, and that made things at least somewhat simpler. They edged towards Tup, and Rex reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Gus is probably right. Room's empty and there's no space to hide in. Scanner's been acting up through the whole hall, anyway, with all the frequencies bouncing around here, and we're not making it any better, shooting stuff up. It's messing with the receiver."

There was a heavy sigh from out of Tup's audio channels, and he turned a bit, sweeping the scanner around for another check. A moment later, Gus mirrored the gesture, and the two bioscanners beeped steadily as they sought out life signs. Rex made a frustrated sound, and looked at Ahsoka. "Ideas?"

Before she could respond, Jesse's glowing form suddenly dipped down behind the holoprojector. In their need to have contact with Gus, then Tup, they'd moved several paces away from the access panel Ashla was hiding behind; the panel that Jesse was now kneeling in front of, his red-blue enveloped fingers reaching perilously close to the bright purple pulsing behind the loose panel.

She and Rex both moved forward at the same time, to close those few strides between themselves and Jesse, but before they got more than two steps forward, the panel suddenly burst out from its port. The Force push was too panicked, too unsteady, to do much damage, but it still slammed straight into Jesse's chest hard enough to bowl him over before it careened off into the wall. He toppled over backward, arms flailing. The other three were instantly in position, blasters coming to bear at the same time a blue pillar of plasma erupted in the darkness, and small form shot out from beneath the hulking machine. The weapon hummed as it flew upward through the air, clutched in the hands of a little girl, who lifted it high over her head as she charged.

But before the moment before any trooper could pull his trigger, and before the moment Ashla swung her borrowed lightsaber down onto Jesse's downed form, what little light there was in the room bent, tilted, flickered, as a pair of ghost-pale shapes formed of grey light and coalesced into being among them. And from those two specters came a single word, a command roared into the silence before slaughter: "_Stop!_"

And they did, frozen mid-motion. The sound of Ashla's labored breathing filled the room, otherwise shocked to silence. The deep blue glow of the lightsaber in her hands illuminated the two ghosts, casting them in an electric pall. They stood, hand in hand, Rex staring down the four troopers, while Ahsoka faced the girl. Each had their free hand lifted in warning.

Ahsoka squeezed Rex's hand, flicked her wrist slightly, cuing him to speak first. Ashla was staring up at her, stunned. If they could get the men to back down, there may still be some way of saving her. That wouldn't happen if she was provoked to attack – or forced to defend. They had to talk the others down. She did not turn herself away from Ashla, but looked over her lekku. Jesse was slowly righting himself, but favoring his right side as he rose. The other three had their blasters lifted, aimed, no longer at Ashla, but at herself and Rex.

At least it wouldn't do them much good, shooting her and Rex.

Growling out the order, Rex commanded, "Stand down!"

There was some uncertain shifting from the three, as Jesse finally reached his feet and slowly lifted his blaster. He stood awkwardly, off kilter; Ashla's wild Force push had managed to bruise him, at least. Still, he was the first to speak, voice uncertain. "Captain? Commander?"

Blasters were cocked, hovering at the ready. "Captain and Commander are _dead_, Jesse," Gus spat. "Who are you? What kind of sick Jedi trick is this?"

At the words, there was a sudden gasp of offense from Ashla, and Ahsoka quickly reached out, slipping her arm through the blue length of the lightsaber's blade, and let her open palm hover close to the girl's grip on the hilt. "Patience," Ahsoka murmured to her, bending slightly forward to meet her gaze, and urge her to lower lightsaber from its opening position. She let her expression go grim. "Wait. _Wait_." Then she looked over her other lekku and pinned Gus with a glare. "It's a trick no Jedi knows about, Gus." She straightened. "I'm me, and Rex is Rex. We're here."

"Bantha poodoo!" He shot back, then tilted his head, taking in one corner of the room, then another, as though searching for something. "We're in a communications room, and you're some sort of holoprojection, though someone's got a kriffing sick sense of humor, calling you up!"

Rex slowly lowered his arm, and faced the man. Chopper stood beside him. The spirit-light of each had grown huge and heated with hostility, and Ahsoka could feel the _outrage_ pouring off Gus. Chopper had turned hard, the grey in his aura suddenly as blunt and solid as durasteel. From Jesse there was _incredulity_, from Tup, _uncertainty_. It was an unquantifiable situation, and assuming someone was projecting their images was a far more plausible explanation than she and Rex, many months dead, suddenly coming back from the dead to appear before them. "We're here, Gus, Chopper," Rex began. "Just like I was there when you accused Chopper of spying for the Seps, back on Geonosis, and Cody and I pinned Slick in a communications room not too unlike this one." He turned, angling his body towards Jesse and Tup to include them. "Or back when we found out Krell was a traitor, on Umbara. Dogma pulled a blaster from Fives' holster, shot Krell in the back while he knelt in his cell. I couldn't do it. None of us could."

The moods in the room shifted, and from _incredulity_ and _uncertainty_ came a fresh wave of _surprise_, then _scrutiny_. From _outrage_ and coldness came new _skepticism_, then _doubt_ that wavered on the edge of _belief_. "You all need to stand down!" Rex repeated, his voice ringing loud and clear through the room, and every ounce of authority he ever had flowed into it. The four troopers responded, easing their grips on their blasters automatically as they regarded the two ghosts again. They did not lower their weapons, but the muzzles tilted to the side, aimed slightly away, indicating some tentative relaxation.

It was Chopper who spoke next: "If you really are Captain Rex, then what are you doing here?"

Rex shifted his attention back onto Chopper, then reached up and pulled his helmet off, revealing his face. "Stopping the four of you from killing a kid, for starters," he snapped, his head jerking slightly towards Ashla. "Last I checked there was no contingency order for killing younglings!"

Gus and Chopper stiffened, Jesse seemed to be looking through Rex and herself to look at Ashla, and Tup shifted uncomfortably. His voice was soft in the silence. "She's a Jedi. Order 66 was initiated, Captain." Ahsoka could feel his eyes on her, from behind that black visor, and she met it unflinchingly. She was not the first to look away. "We're just following orders."

"The Chancellor has turned against the Republic," Rex said with equal quiet. "He's betrayed the trust of his office, and he's ordered Order 66 to eliminate the group most likely to present a real challenge to him. He's using you, Tup." He turned slowly, looking at each man through the helmet that hid their faces. "He's using all of us. Jesse. Gus. Chopper."

"That's not possible," Gus replied, but there was a hint of _uncertainty_ in it now. The steady brown and green whirl of color around him was murky with _indecision_. "The Chancellor is the Republic. He uses us to keep it safe. How else would we be used?"

"The same way Slick used us as a cover," Chopper said bitterly, and the muzzle of his blaster lowered a fraction. "The same way Slick acted like he was taking care of us, when he was selling us out to the Seps." A frosty flow of _betrayal_ was slowly beginning to froth around the man, and his spirit-light was growing dense and hard around him, the edges seeming sharp enough to cut. "For his own damned profit, while he claimed to be acting for us." He turned, body positioned to indicate that behind his visor, he was focusing on Ashla, still holding her blue lightsaber up before her defensively, even with Ahsoka's staying hand. "Then when caught – implicate a victim." He snorted, turning then away from Ashla, with a twisting sensation of pained _understanding _before he turned to Rex again. "It's easier to get someone else to take the fall."

Gus' spirit-light wavered again, and he shook his head minutely, stubborn in denial. "No. There's no reason the Chancellor of the Republic would turn us over to the Seps. That doesn't make any sense!"

"He's not turning to the Separatists, Gus, he's turning to the Sith," Ahsoka told him, once again warding Ashla back as the girl startled, then emotionally spiked with alarm. She was old enough to hear the stories, the scary ones older Padawans told the younger ones to frighten them at night; except those stories were all too well rooted in truth and history rather than fantasy. The Dark Side was real, as were those who followed it. "Not to a group of politicians with a droid army, but to what led Dooku to leave the Jedi in the first place. He's out to kill Jedi because they stand in his way, not because they turned against the Republic."

Rex picked up the thread of her words. "It's not the first time we've seen one of our leaders turn against us. Use us against each other for his own ends. Remember Umbara, Jesse, Tup. Remember what happened with Krell."

The two troopers straightened at the memory Rex was invoking. Ahsoka looked away for a moment, feeling Rex's hand tighten around hers, not in _apprehension_, but in remembrance. So many had died during that invasion, and died needlessly. She wasn't there; it was during one of her increasingly rare periods at the Temple for academic study. Master Skywalker's return to Coruscant had been surprising, but she'd trusted that the Jedi they left in his place would take care of the men, just as he had. Master was furious when he saw the 501st's Umbaran casualty reports, received Rex's report on Krell's betrayal and the company's handling of it. She ran a thumb unobtrusively over his knuckles, just below the white rectangle of plastoid that covered the back of his hand. He squeezed her fingers again, this time in acknowledgement. She resisted a smile, since the situation was too serious, but her spirit-light, silver and tremulous as it was while they were visible, flowed up into him in an effort at shared strength.

Gus was shaking, his blaster vibrating in his hands, and he was a mixture of _disbelief, shock_, and a slowly growing sense of _dread_. He trusted her, trusted Rex, but he believed in the Republic, and what the Chancellor was supposed to stand for. "Krell was a Jedi who turned traitor to the Republic! Just like these! It's the same!"

Jesse moved then, lowering his blaster as he reached out with a hand and placed it on Gus' shoulder, restraining gently. "No. No, it's not. You weren't there. Not like Tup and me. Krell didn't just turn on the Republic, he turned on the Jedi. He wanted to join _Dooku_, not the Seps. Started raving about the end of the Republic, about it being destroyed and not wanting to be on the losing side."

For the first time, Gus turned his attention fully away from the two ghosts and the girl standing behind them. He stared at Jesse, then looked at Tup as though Tup might contradict Jesse's statement. "What?"

"Krell believed it," Tup said quietly, meeting Gus' stare. "I didn't." There was a waver of _uncertainty_ in his green-yellow aura, then the sinking sensation of sudden realization. His attention shifted from Gus to Jesse. "Is this what he meant? The Jedi are supposed to be the defenders of the Republic. If the Jedi really are loyal, not to the Chancellor, but to the Republic itself, we're killing the Republic's first line of defense."

"But that would make _us_ the traitors!" Gus burst out, and in his agitation, lowered the aim of his blaster so he could better face Jesse and Tup. Though Ahsoka could not see his face, it was not hard to imagine his expression of _bewilderment, disbelief_ and _betrayal_. The mossy green and earthy brown that had surrounded him so steadily was in flux, vibrating in small and shocked waves around him.

That shock was giving way to a quiet horror, a stunned silence that grew rather than lessened. Krell was one man, and one who proved himself untrustworthy in the worst way possible. His word – whatever visions he may have had – ultimately meant little. The word of a traitor was nothing. Except that it seemed to be true, and if there was one thing a man such as Krell could be trusted to do, it would be to save himself. Ahsoka lowered her head as the cold dawn of understanding began to spread throughout the room. It was so easy to say, 'The Chancellor is the Republic' because he was its' leader. It was so easy to forget the Republic was not only an institution, but a group of people – many, many people, and it was their consent to be governed that established the institution known as the Republic. No one man could ever be the Republic, and any who claimed to be so could only be a despot, a dictator, a man of single-minded selfishness. Such a man would want to eliminate any voices of opposition, any potential threats to his position. He would crave control, make people into puppets that could be used.

What greater threat was there to such a man, than a group of people dedicated solely to the defense of the Republic as people, rather than as an institution? What greater threat was there to a Sith, a creature of selfishness, than a Jedi, a creature of altruism? For all their faults, the Jedi understood this. The clones, perhaps not. Looking at the four, living men standing before her, she wondered if they realized who the Republic ever really was. Not a man, not even a government, but a people.

It was Chopper who moved first, stepping forward while the others stared. It was Ahsoka who moved next, placing her incorporeal body between that of Chopper and that of Ashla, tensing behind her. Chopper reached up and pulled off his helmet, revealing his two-tone eyes and scarred face. She looked at him a long moment, her head tilted upward while his was tilted down. The incident with Slick on Christophsis happened shortly before her arrival with the 501st, but she knew what had happened, and how close Chopper came to being a victim of false accusations and lies. In the following months they served together, she found him a rough man, even a broken man, but not a bad man. He looked at her with steady eyes and a steady spirit-light, if sad.

He glanced away briefly, down past her, to Ashla, then back up at her again, asking for silent permission.

She gave it. She did not move far, and placed a translucent hand on Ashla's shoulder. "It will be alright," she _whispered_, so that no one else could hear. Her words seemed to be of little help, for once Ahsoka lifted her hand from Ashla's shoulder, she wavered, trembling slightly as she gripped her lightsaber tighter, keeping it between herself and the man now kneeling down in front of her and setting his blaster aside.

"I'm Chopper," he said, lips puckered into an uncertain frown, and Ahsoka wondered if this was the first time he'd ever spoken to a child. "These are my brothers. We're flesh and blood, just like you."

Ashla blinked luminous grey eyes up at him. She ducked her head down and to the side, while adjusting her grip on the hilt of her lightsaber, as though she still half expected him to snatch up his blaster and open fire on her. "This is my home." She cast an uncertain look up at Ahsoka again, then back to Chopper. Her brows drew together, her lips pressed, and she struggled not to cry. "Everyone's dead."

"I know. And I'm sorry. We were wrong." He looked at her, then traced the length of her lightsaber, up to its' pointed blue tip, then returned his attention to the girl and her tearing eyes. He lowered his head, the old rough tracks of his scars visible in the clear blue light of her blade. "Keeping one more person alive is better than…" he trailed off, awkwardly, grimaced, then finished, "Better than letting them all lie dead."

He offered one hand, palm up, empty, to Ashla.

She was still a little girl, with all the stubbornness and direct-mindedness of one. If she'd met clones before this night, they would likely have been as the large, armored, imposing figures that represented the war. She would know they were not flesh-droids, but she would see only the intimidating soldiers in them, not the men. Perhaps an ordinary child would have looked at Chopper and his scarred face and oddly colored eyes and see only the frightening visage of a rough man, but Ashla was not an ordinary child. Ashla was a Jedi. She was taught to listen to people, to understand them, to feel what they felt, to place herself in their position and contemplate their actions and their reasons _why_. She would be taught not just to see, but to feel, to determine what a person truly was. She would feel the same wave of true _regret_ Ahsoka could feel from him, the same hardening of will that came from sudden _determination_.

No one would have ever taught Ashla to destroy every enemy beyond recognition, no one would have taught her to see only opponents to be crushed on the other side of her lightsaber. No one would have told her to never extend mercy, or sympathy. Though she would be cautioned about trickery, she would also be taught to trust the truth of her instincts, to believe that people could have just as much good in them as bad, and that it was better to have faith in that goodness than certainty in the bad.

The little girl with the lightsaber in her hand turned slightly, and looked again at Ahsoka, but this time, it was not only at her, but at the place where her hand joined with that of another, a man in ghostly armor so similar to that worn by the man kneeling across from her. Chopper's hand was still extended, armored fingers curling slightly in the empty space between them.

The motion was slow, hesitant. But across that gap of space moved a small, sienna-colored hand, wreathed in a gloaming of shifting amaranthine and shimmering azure. It hovered over the durasteel grey and rippling yellow of Chopper's palm for several long seconds, before descending, her fingertips curling around his.

That was when the slow sound of applause began. It came from deep within the shadows of the room, and was accompanied by a pair of small, burning, round red eyes.

* * *

><p>Music for this chapter is <em>Time<em>, from the soundtrack to _Inception_, by Hans Zimmer.

I really hope this all made sense. This chapter drove me nuts. Yes, that is the Son at the end.

~Queen


	28. Little Girl Running

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"Fear, loneliness, they're the big ones, Rose.<p>

Some of the most terrible acts ever committed were inspired by them.

There's a lot of things you need to get across this universe.

Warp drive, wormhole refractors.

You know the thing you need most of all?

You need a hand to hold."

-The Doctor, _Fear Her_

* * *

><p>Chapter 27. Little Girl Running<p>

* * *

><p>With the sound of applause came the blooming of a feeling she had never experienced before.<p>

It felt _foul_, _wrong_, and Ashla turned to face it with her lightsaber in hand. The shadows churned, grew smoky, flowed through the room with a menace she had never felt from them before. She'd never been afraid of the dark, even when she was the youngest of Initiates. The Temple hallways that seemed so welcoming during the day seemed spooky at night, but never menacing, never frightening, never foul. This, though, was all those things. Corrupt and poisonous, but subtle too. It felt soft, like smoke. It would be easy to forget to be afraid, except that the thing seemed to exude fear.

The man of two-colored eyes and ridged old scars tightened his grip on her hand, and before she could protest or even understand what he was doing, she found herself jerked back, not fully behind him, not quite, but the angle of his body was imposed before her, shielding. It was a strange sight. Was it only a minute ago he was pointing his blaster at her, rather than on her behalf?

Blasters made a soft clatter as they were cocked and aimed, this time not at her, not at the strangely spectral form of Ahsoka or her clone companion, but at the emerging shape of a pale, too-tall man with small red eyes and a smirk she did not like. He faded into the shadows, his body a dark miasma that writhed around him, endlessly moving in supple gyrations.

"Interesting," the man in black said, with a voice as smooth and cold as the space between the stars. Then he moved towards them, his grey, red streaked face remaining visible while the rest of his body flowed like steam, black arms lifting through the smoke to reach out.

Four men opened fire, and the room was lit in a blaze of blue brightness. It cast a monstrous, staccato light over the squat shapes of the holoprojector and the computers, and made the shadows of the four clone troopers dance weirdly against the walls. The man in the miasma, however, absorbed the blaster bolts as easily as he did the light, and where each shot struck him, it was sucked into a swirl of the darkness of his smoky body and gone.

His red eyes seemed to be focused on her, and she brought her lightsaber to bear. Whoever it was, he wasn't friendly. She'd begun learning more advanced lightsaber forms recently, but the one she knew the best, and had trained in the longest, was Shii-Cho. It was not often she'd practiced the combat form of the style over the more sparring-oriented form, but she dropped into the opening stance all the same, knees bent and with her weight slightly forward, to make a speedier forward strike. The lightsaber she'd taken from a Master's body was too large for her, but she adapted the best she could, holding it diagonally across her body, two handed to help compensate for any upper body strength she may be lacking. The scarred clone named Chopper scowled, but didn't shift his kneeling stance when she moved a step away from him in the process of preparation for a fight.

But the man in the darkness made it no closer to her than the incandescence surrounding Ahsoka. The silvery-blue light that surrounded her and her clone companion seemed to shift, harden, and expand, and when Ahsoka stretched out her right arm, a wall of solid light became a barrier between Ashla, Chopper, and the man of darkness.

He did not rear back in surprise or anger, and his amused expression did not change, but he stopped short of that hard wall of light. The shadowy smoke around him settled slightly, revealing more of a red-streaked scalp, high collar and pair of broad shoulders. He lifted a hand and reached out, almost idly, drawing fingertips along the steady barrier of silver-blue ghost light emanating from Ahsoka. The wall rippled in his touch's wake, more like water than wall. His head tilted to the side, and he regarded her, then her companion, thoughtfully. "Clever. You've learned something."

The sensation of Ahsoka's _defiance_ seemed distant, as though she were a long distance away, rather than standing right in front of her. She didn't move, didn't look back over her lekku, didn't change her attention from the man in the shadows, but she ordered, sharply, "Chopper, get Ashla out of here. All of you, get out." When the men hesitated, wavered, blasters still marked on the strange man in the miasma, she commanded again, "_Now!_"

They moved. Chopper had his helmet back on in the same, smooth motion he used to sweep around and grab her hand again, unceremoniously yanking her along behind him. He kept a blaster aimed at the dark man, but pulled her along behind him, sparing a moment to snap, "Put that thing out before you cut my arm off, kid."

She was staring at the stalled scene before her, and didn't realize at first he meant her lightsaber. He kept pulling her along, trying to keep her slightly behind him while he covered their retreat, his three partners trailing after as they backed their way towards the door.

Ahsoka was still facing off against the man made of smoke and shadows, her hand still in that of her companion's. The light that surrounded them was clear, lambent and soft, except for where it blocked the dark man from following them. There it was hard, sharp edged and resonant like an Adegan crystal, and she could feel the faintest hum of it in the tips of her small montrals.

She'd had such hopes.

When the death of Ahsoka Tano became known to her, she hadn't cried, but she sat on her sleeping couch in her quarters for some time, staring at the hilt of her training saber and wondering what would happen next. Ashla didn't know Ahsoka particularly well; they did know each other, spoke politely to each other, even shared bread at Ullambana on the days when they celebrated the festival at the Temple, in one of the meeting rooms. They were friendly, but not friends. Still, when Ashla looked at the older girl, she had plans that were as much daydreams as they were hopes. When she was old enough to begin learning forms that were not Shii-Cho, she began with Shien. She even played, sometimes, with a reverse-grip on her hilt, whacking herself far too many times in the legs as she tried whirling it around her. When the older students had their classes in the training arenas, and she could pick out the shape of the older Togruta girl, she made sure she experimented then, making herself as visible as she could. There was no way of knowing if Ahsoka would want a Padawan after she was knighted, but Ashla tried what she could to keep herself at least on the periphery of the older girl's awareness. She spoke politely to her. Congratulated her shyly one day when she was in the Temple, not long after she was promoted to Padawan and given Master Skywalker as a Master. She liked the idea of being the Padawan of the Chosen One's Padawan. There were no families in the Temple, not officially, but that would have joined her to a lineage of teachers and Masters she could be so very proud of. She wanted to be a fighter, and Ahsoka Tano was acknowledged as one of the most advanced of those, in her age bracket. Ahsoka was just old enough, just far ahead enough in age and skill, to be looking for a first Padawan at about the time Ashla would be trying to attract a Master.

She hadn't cried, when she heard Ahsoka had died in battle. But she sat on the edge of her sleeping couch and felt sadness and loss. Not just for herself, but for the older girl who could have done so much and gone so far.

And the girl she wanted as a Master one day was the one to save her life, on the day the Temple fell. She was dead, and somehow still fighting, standing there now, translucent and spectral, in the middle of a communications room and facing down a creature so full of the Dark she couldn't even begin to understand what he was. Somehow, she and the man with her turned the soldiers about to kill her into allies. One of those allies was now pulling her up the last steps and towards the door, the three men with him falling into formation behind them and covering their escape.

Ahsoka turned then, slightly. Her body was still squared off with the strange man, but her face turned towards the door, and Ashla found her gaze met. The hard, battle-ready look in Ahsoka's eyes softened, and her lips curved upward into a bit of a smile.

Ashla returned it, and extinguished her lightsaber, plunging the room into a darkness interrupted only by ghost-light.

Then she was out the door, and Chopper cursed once, and she found herself swept up from her feet with a hiss of, "Be quiet and don't move!" as she was thrown unceremoniously over the armored shoulder of the clone trooper. The shoulder bell of Chopper's armor was hard, and it dug into her ribs as she swallowed a startled cry of pain. Her lekku flopped wildly, aching at being suddenly flipped upside down and forced to hang that way. Her arms swung wildly, and she wiggled, trying to bring the hilt in her hand to her waist, to hook it onto her belt. It clicked into place just as Chopper hissed again, "Stop squirming!" this time with a wave of _alarm_ stabbing through him.

All she could see were the polished marble patterns on the floor and white-booted feet, as they moved steadily down the corridor, footfalls heavy and slow. She could hear the dull thudding of more blaster fire in the distance, and the sound of several rapidly approaching men. Ashla closed her eyes and went limp, arms dangling and stomach roiling with new fear. The acidic taste of vomit burned the back of her mouth, and she struggled to keep it down. It would be so easy for them to turn her over to others, or put her down and shoot her anyway.

They came to a stop, and a mechanized voice said, "We heard shooting."

She tried not to breathe, and couldn't quite tell who spoke next, but it wasn't Chopper. "Yeah, we got this one in one of the communication rooms, hiding. Last room in the corridor, rest are clear. Where are we piling the bodies?"

There was a pause, then, "We haven't gotten any instructions for it. Put her with some of the others, I guess." She tried not to squeeze her eyes more tightly shut at the words, to remain still and breathless. It seemed like an eternity, but Chopper began to walk again, and she could hear the heavy tread of the three other men escorting her as well.

They all felt so different, in the Force. She'd seen clone troopers before tonight, though not many, and they were usually walking with Masters on their way to somewhere important. She hadn't spent much time thinking about them. Now, though, it was all she could do. Opening herself to the Force only brought the pain of what was happening around her to full bear, and the onslaught of death and darkness and pain was enough to make her scream. It felt like something was changing, moving, like a giant rancor was rolling over and waking from a century of sleep, and he was hungry. It wasn't the feeling the Force should have, and she was repelled by it.

The four men with her were an easier, less frightening source of meditation, even though they were also so very _afraid_. Their fear was so very like hers. She didn't know which was which, beside Chopper who carried her. Chopper felt much the way he looked, scarred and battered, with a density that sometimes gave way to surprising bits of softness before turning hard and damaged again. It was a strangely lumpy sensation, like running her hand across scar-patterned flesh. Another man felt, not quite soft, but pliable somehow. Like he could bend in any direction, and was not quite sure if he could stand fully up to any who might try to push him. The next was just the opposite; he felt as hard as stone and as stubborn as rock, immovable, tough, weathered and solid. The final man felt keen, sharp; even in his burgeoning panic, there was a certainty to him, like a well-polished, deftly wielded vibroknife. There was also a vague sense of physical pain mixed in with the rest of his emotions, and she suspected he was the man who found her in her hiding place, and she attacked with the access panel.

The entered a turbolift, and once the door closed, exploded in frantic conversation.

"What are we supposed to do with her?"

"What was that thing back there? Where do we go? Should we tell the General?"

"Did you _see_ the General before we came in here? Do _you_ want to tell him we're screwing up when he looks like _that_?"

"All of you, shut up and calm down before anyone else sees us!"

"But what are we supposed to do?"

Their questions and admonitions overlapped each other, half whispered, half shouted, their voices rising in pitch as the turbolift dropped down through its shaft. Ashla bucked, tucked herself small, and rolled, tumbling herself off Chopper's shoulder while he grappled with her, trying to keep her there. It was one fight she managed to be victorious in, and she landed lightly on her feet with barely a thump. The four men in dirty white and blue armor towered over her, and she looked up at them with wide charcoal eyes and felt her mouth run dry. She wasn't sure exactly how much she could trust any of them, with so many troopers running through the Temple and murdering Jedi. But they were likely her best option for survival right now, they obeyed Ahsoka, and they disobeyed their orders to kill her, a fact that seemed to be frightening them as much as that creature in the darkness did.

There was really only one option. She didn't quite manage to keep her voice from quivering when she said up to them, "We can't stay here."

Those black eyepieces were terrifying. They looked down at her so blandly, so expressionlessly. They were abruptly very still in the Force, too much in shock over what they were in the process of doing. She looked a longer moment at Chopper, hoping perhaps that since he was the first to offer help, he might support her, but it was the one that felt as hard as stone that spoke first. "The kid's right. We need to get out of here. All of us."

The one with the teardrop under his visor shook his head once, vehemently. "We're already disobeying orders. The General –"

"Is leading the attack, Tup," interrupted the one she'd hit with the panel earlier, with the Roundel patterned boldly on his helmet. "The General is a Jedi, and he's leading the attack against his own. He's not going to listen to a crazy story about the Captain and the Commander and some weird…monster man. Not right now anyway. If everything the Captain and Commander said was true, then the whole Republic's just gone to hell."

Ashla backed up a step as those words filled the turbolift with a fresh wave of shock, and she stumbled back into Chopper's legs. The attack was being led by a Jedi? Which Jedi would do this? Who was leading these men? What battalion or legion were they? Who was supposed to wear the blue edged armor?

She looked straight up when she heard Chopper snort. "We running then?"

There was silence in the turbolift, save for the faint swish of their passage through the elevator shaft. That silence ended with a light ping, and the doors opened onto another hallway, this one narrow and dimly lit, a service corridor she didn't recognize.

Roundel-pattern made the final decision. "Yeah. Yeah, Chopper, I think we're running."

The turbolift seemed so cold just then, ominous in its silence. Roundel-pattern moved first, stepping out of the turbolift with such a feeling of heaviness, Ashla didn't want to follow. From the heaviness, a sense of _resolution_ began to form, though it was unsteady and reluctant. As she followed Roundel-pattern – either Jesse or Gus, since Tup seemed to be Teardrop-shape – she heard the quiet pop of a blaster being reset. She wasn't the only one who turned around to see Tup stepping out of the turbolift car, fiddling with his blaster carbine. He his head lifted, turned slightly from one man to another, and he said, determinedly, "I'm not killing any brothers. I've got it on stun."

He received three nods, and the other three began to recalibrate their weapons as well. Chopper fell into step beside her, and she glanced up at him with a frown. "You're not supposed to be alive to be walking, kid," he pointed out, and her frown deepened into a scowl. She felt helpless being carried like a sack of topatoes, unable to even try fighting back, and Chopper's shoulder was not exactly the most comfortable way she'd ever traveled. He seemed either oblivious or uncaring about her scowl, and bent down, scooped her up and tossed her back over his shoulder with an oomph of discomfort. She sighed in resignation as they tramped down the hallway, footfalls loud in the quiet. At least it had worked successfully before. Anything that lifted her chances of escape.

She tried to lay limp while they moved quickly down the hallway. If they were planning to escape, they would have to be heading out to the docking bays or the rear exits, either in hope of fleeing into the lower levels or getting entirely off world. She wasn't sure which would be better, or which these four would choose. She wanted to find other Jedi, and most would probably have headed into the undercity. The rest of her Initiate clan might still be alive; they might have been evacuated out of the crèche. She'd be with them now, whatever their fate, if she hadn't stayed up late in the training arenas, learning not to bruise herself with reverse-grip Shien. Mari and J.K. would be leading them. She wished she was with them. Mari was always so calm, she'd be able to keep everyone from panicking, create order out of the chaos and panic that had to be ensuing in the attack. J.K. would make sure everyone stayed together, remembered to fight as a team. Since she wasn't there, she had to hope Chian and Liam could keep Jempa from getting too reckless. He was too prone to charging into a fight wildly; he had too much courage and not enough sense, and he was growing so big lately that he thought he could just muscle his way through everything. But they would fight together, her clan. They would fight with their training sabers and with real sabers if they had to.

They weren't dead. They couldn't be dead. They were her clan, and Master Yoda always told them they were mighty. She felt tears swelling up in her eyes again, and blinked them back, trying not to rub at them. She was Ashla of the Bear clan, and she was too strong to just cry when she was hurt. She was a Jedi, and when she or someone else was hurt, she was supposed to do something about it.

She could hear the hum of the city. It was faint at first, but it grew stronger, as did the smell of smoke, oil and the night. The polished stone floor gave way to duracrete below her, and she closed her eyes again, trying to keep them relaxed. The draft of the hallway became a steady breeze, and her skin of her arms prickled beneath her sleeves. They were outside, probably near the docking bays if not on them. Would they head to the lower levels, or to the sky? She wanted to go below, try to find other escaped Jedi, but the sky...it was harder to catch someone in the sky. Harder to track someone in hyperspace. The sky would be safer, if they could escape the atmosphere. But her clan and the other Jedi wouldn't be in the sky, and if they were, they'd be scattering across the galaxy and she'd never find them.

Chopper's gait was steady with a bit of a swagger, and as she swayed to his walk, she tried to ignore the ache in her lekku, flipped upside down and curving in the wrong direction. Blood was rushing to her head and her montrals were starting to ring. She wished they were longer, bigger. She'd be able to make out more through echolocation, but anything more than a few meters beyond the four clone troopers surrounding her was an incoherent mass. She had to keep her eyes closed. She had to keep her eyes closed and not look around, much as she wanted to. There were more footsteps, the even, heavy march of many booted feet, not too far away. More clone troopers. She had to be still, and trust that Chopper meant it when he offered her a hand and a way out.

A voice called over a distance, challenging, and there was the sound of feet striking the ground at a jog; not the alarmed sound of a full run, but the alerted sound of someone wary. Ashla breathed into her belly slow and deep, the way she was supposed to when she meditated, and concentrated on making herself very, very still.

"What are you all doing? This area's supposed to be kept clear!"

The one who felt like rock was the first to answer, and though there was a sick feeling in him, his response was firm and easy. "We've got orders to find someplace to start burning the bodies. Can't be turning the whole place into a charnel house while we're still in it." There was a pause, then a snort. "Brat thought she could get a jump on us. Didn't work too well."

The guard was _irritated_, and his response appropriately abrupt. "You can't use the docks to make pyres. This whole area's being locked down. Nobody in or out."

Roundel-pattern asked, very casually, "Gun batteries set up yet?"

"Just started. The walkers are on their way."

"How long?"

Another pause, then, "Five, ten minutes maybe. There was a group that made a break for it earlier, left everything a mess. They're assembling teams to hunt them down, now."

Ashla tried not to cheer at the words. At least someone got out. She tried to breathe in a small breath. Her entire head was ringing now from hanging this way so long. Rock-sturdy moved slightly, as though he were looking around. "Anywhere you recommend for the pyres?"

The guard shifted, stepping back a pace. "Not here. Don't they have any kind of plaza or anything?"

Roundel-pattern shrugged. "We'll find somewhere. Not like the place isn't big enough."

"Yeah," the guard agreed, then added, "Good hunting, _vode_."

There was a shift among the group, and Roundel-pattern straightened and returned the dismissal. "Good hunting, sir." Then there was more of the sound of moving feet, and she began to sway again as Chopper started walking. They weren't moving straight back into the service corridor. She could sense the bulk of the wall behind her, and as Chopper turned, they moved parallel to it, pace steady and businesslike. Ashla swallowed, trying to ignore the growing pain in her head as they moved along. The sound of more men in heavy boots came and went, then they passed the sounds of industry, of some sort of heavy machinery being put into place or moved about. She breathed in, shallowly, then out again, trying to move her stomach and chest as little as possible in the effort. The sound of movement faded, then there was more marching sounds, then it grew quieter, the footsteps more distant.

Their walk abruptly changed, and she cracked her eyes open an instant before she felt herself whipped around and dropped on the ground, though not entirely carelessly. She bit back a groan as her vision went dark and the blood began to rush out of her head. Chopper's plain white helmet was looming in her face, when she could focus again, and one of his hands clamped down onto her shoulder. "Keep quiet, kid, and get ready," he warned, then looked up. "Got it yet?"

Tup was crouching just above them; they were bent down behind a series of portable diagnostic consoles, which sat beside a large, squat refueling station. Above them towered the red-wings of an Eta-class shuttle. It seemed they'd decided the sky would be the way to go, and she felt a pang in her heart, realizing how far they were intending to escape. At the very least, they'd be heading to the other side of Coruscant.

Air hissed as hydraulics depressurized, and the boarding ramp of the shuttle began to lower. The edge of it touched the ground with a light scrape.

Roundel-pattern made a dash for the interior, just as a shout went up from somewhere nearby. Chopper's hand came down on her head hard when she tried to poke it up over the edge of the console to see, keeping her low. Several more shouts began to go up as Rock-sturdy bounded after Roundel, now clearing the boarding ramp and disappearing into the shadows within the seating area of the shuttle. Rock-sturdy kept low as he rushed past, using the consoles as a cover as long as he could. Still, there was about five meters of open space between the computers and the bottom of the on-ramp. Rock-sturdy cleared it just as an opening salvo of blaster fire streaked towards him, one shot slamming into the outer hull and scoring it with black char. Two other bolts flew through the open space he'd passed through a second before, sailing straight and long until they thudded into the hull of a larger transport several dozen meters away.

Chopper knelt beside her, and Tup just behind her. They had to run, and they had to run now. There was too much noise coming from the other side of their cover; shouts of surprise and alarm, boots pounding against duracrete, and an increasing number of plasma bolts skimming through the air above them and between their hiding space and the ship. The console bucked beside them, and she let out a short, startled scream as something on the control panels erupted in sparks and a column of smoke.

"Tup, you go next," Chopper shouted over the increasing noise. The shuttle was powering up, and the deflector shields were blurring into existence around the body of the ship as the engines whined to life. Another blast made it through the few meters separating them from the ship. It would be too easy to be cut down in those last few strides. She looked at the base of the consoles as Tup leaned forward, coming up off his knees and onto his toes, ready to make his run. The diagnostics were meant to be portable, but they were locked down onto the repulsor platform they were stacked on. The controls were on the further end, and getting to them meant exposing herself to blaster fire. Even if she made it, there was no guarantee she could get it running in time to move it to the shuttle before she was shot.

There was only one other way of covering them as they crossed the space. When Tup darted forward, she moved with him, and though she felt a tug on the back of her tunic, the fabric slipped out of Chopper's grasp as she surged out into the space, blue blade leaping from the hilt of her borrowed lightsaber. While Tup ran straight, she stepped a bit further to the right, and turned to face the battle coming towards her.

The air was a river of blue plasma, and she was at the end of it. The bolts came at different heights, different angles, all at once, so very differently from sparring against a single opponent or a training remote. Beyond that churning stream there were dozens of blue decorated clone troopers running towards her, their faces all made of those expressionless, black-eyed masks.

She _danced_, and her lightsaber provided the music around her, its humming pitch rising and falling with each motion. _Kata_ were different than the kind of joyful spins and leaps she would perform for fun, and this was even more different than _kata_. There was no proper set of movements, one flowing into the other in a particular pattern. Here she made up the pattern herself, guided by the promise of death that accompanied each shot approaching her. This wild dance was part Shii-Cho, part Shien, the varied steps incorporated as smoothly as she could make them. When the first shot hit her blade, she felt it reverberate up her arms and into her montrals, the recoil almost hard enough to make her drop the hilt. But there was no time for shock or pain, because there was another shot skimming towards her, and another, and the world narrowed to her blade and those flying streaks of light, and she felt full, so full, more full of the Force than she ever had, while she danced on the edge of living and dying. It was full of death, the Force. Of something hungry that descended into a bottomless emptiness, except for in this one little place where her feet and her saber danced out a feeling of life, of survival, of a future beyond those bolts of blue death that could pierce her so easily.

Vaguely, she was aware of a second body moving behind her, which must be Chopper. Then there was a sudden volley of return fire coming from her left, the bolts shaped differently, wider and crackling as they closed the distance between the ship and the first of approaching clone troopers, now only a dozen meters away. The stunner rounds sizzled through the air and met their targets, two men staggering and toppling backward as they collapsed to the ground. Ashla edged to her left, sending another bolt back towards their attackers; it flew wide, high. She had too little control to shoot the bolts back into her opponents accurately, but her goal was to cover their retreat, and she was succeeding. Another volley of stunners crackled forward, and she made it up onto the ramp, Chopper and Tup following close behind, and one of them was screaming to go.

The ramp began to lift, as did the shuttle. Ashla extinguished her lightsaber as Chopper and Tup clamored past her, towards the cockpit, and someone was shouting, "Tell me you know how to fly this thing!" as the ramp locked into place.

Roundel-pattern was in the pilot's seat as she reached the cockpit, and his hands were flying frantically over the controls. "Can't be any worse than an Umbaran starfighter. At least this layout makes sense."

The shuttle was moving beyond the edge of the docking bay, and the dull thuds of blaster fire hitting the deflectors sounded throughout the ship. There was no heavier fire; the walkers weren't there yet. Ashla shivered at the thudding sounds, looking at the four men surrounding her. Rock-sturdy was in the co-pilot's chair, and she was wedged between Chopper and Tup as they eased further out over the Temple District, and into the sky. They were remarkably calm now, all four of them, as the lights of nighttime Coruscant swept towards them, then stars as they aimed higher. Battle didn't seem to unnerve them the way disobedience did. The lights of the city grew fainter as the sky grew darker, the stars more intense as the light pollution faded behind them and the atmosphere grew thin. Other ships began to grow visible, then distinct, as they rose through thin cirrus into the exosphere.

A hand came down onto her shoulder, gently, and Ashla staggered under the gentle touch. "You okay?" Tup was asking her, black eye pieces blank and empty. She gripped her lightsaber hilt to her chest tightly, clutching it as she realized she was trembling. This time, when her eyes filled with tears, she couldn't stop them from spilling over, and she hiccupped once as they ran down her face.

She was alone with four men who, less than an hour ago, were storming the Temple. Even now, more of them were still fighting within it, killing other Jedi. The feeling that something was devouring the galaxy was spreading, pulling at her, hungry and seeking to fill an emptiness that couldn't be filled. There were so many dead; she didn't even recognize the Master whose lightsaber she took, when she found him lying sprawled in the hallway with open, sightless eyes. She'd never been in a battle before. Never had anyone genuinely trying to kill her.

Worst of all, maybe, was that she still didn't really understand why. Ahsoka said the Chancellor had become a Sith. How could that happen? Did he really hate Jedi so much that he'd want to kill them all? And why would a Jedi lead anyone to attack their home? She tried pulling a hand away from her lightsaber hilt to wipe at the tears blurring her vision, but her fingers stayed locked around it. A lightsaber was a Jedi's life. She couldn't let go. Instead, she turned her head to the side and tried wiping her eyes on her shoulder, but her lek got in the way, so she slid down to her forearm. Clearing the water from her eyes did little good, though; more tears came and she bit on her lip as she let out a sob.

All four of the troopers were staring helplessly at her, but she couldn't stop. Roundel-pattern looked away first, saying quietly, "Hyperspace in…three, two – now."

As the transparasteel dome of the cockpit went from star-scattered black to the blue streaked tunnel of hyperspace, Ashla cried.


	29. The Dark Side of Democracy

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"…<em>but when you come to the end of one time and the beginning of a new one, <em>

_it's a period of tremendous pain and turmoil. _

_The threat we feel, and everybody feels – _

_well, there is this notion of Armageddon coming…."_

– _Joseph Cambell, The Power of Myth_

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><p>Chapter 28. The Dark Side of Democracy<p>

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><p>The foul feel of <em>rot<em> rolled through the room like a cold fog.

It was not the first time Ahsoka had felt the fetid presence of the Dark Side; but it was rarely so concentrated as it was now, so potent and so putrid. It swept through the room like a poisoned tide, swirling, caressing, soft as water and just as easy to drown in. It was not an unfamiliar sensation, that particular compound of _hate_ and _fear_ and _corruption_, and as the smoke-grey face of the Son emerged from the darkness, she did not feel surprise, only a grim resignation. Of course he was here, at the Sith's moment of triumph, at the victory of the Dark over the Light. Where else would the embodiment of all that was Dark be?

The sound of blasters readying was usually a comforting one, of men around and behind her preparing themselves for a fight. She's spent three years learning the tiny clicking tune they made as they were hefted into the air and fingers tensed around triggers. There was a short, muffled sound of surprise from behind her, and she hoped that was the sound of Chopper getting Ashla out of the way. Putting himself before her was a meager defense, considering what the Son was capable of, but it was one that needed to be taken.

The shift in positions also gave one final signal; Chopper, Jesse, Gus and Tup had allied themselves with Rex and herself, and they'd chosen to defend Ashla. For a moment, everything felt right again. It wasn't perfect, not exactly, but it was so close. Rex was beside her, her men were behind her, and they were fighting for something that was right, even against overwhelming odds. She almost wanted to smile in defiance.

There was no smile on the Son's face, but rather a curious little smirk. "Interesting," he said mildly, and then flowed forward, the shadows and smoke of his aura rushing around him like a stream of fog.

By every appearance, it was an attack, his sudden rush forward, and the four armed clones reacted as such. The room erupted into blaster fire, the electric blue of each bolt flying through the air and flashing bright and short against the walls of the communication room.

The Son, though, was unintimidated by the display of firepower. Even before he'd died, such weapons would have no real effect on him, a creature capable of extinguishing lightsabers with a gesture. Now, he did not even need to make even that motion. The bolts simply sank into him, piercing the miasma of his body, and disappearing into the dark.

Though there was nothing that could threaten the Son, there was also nothing that could threaten her. Not really. She no longer had a life to lose, and it was impossible to kill someone twice. As the Son approached, it wasn't fear for herself she experienced, but fear for the men around her and the little girl she one day thought to make her apprentice. His charge was meant to intimidate, to frighten, just as he'd tried to frighten and intimidate the last time they'd met, so long ago now, in that interrogation room. But this time was not like last time, and there were living men and a little girl in the room, who were out of their depth and thick in the middle of a massacre. He couldn't be allowed to spirit one of them away, bite one of them, infect one of them, speak enough words of uncertainty to change the minds of the four men and turn them back against the little girl.

Ahsoka was armed only with a theory, sparked off by watching Master Windu walk beside Chancellor Palpatine outside the Senate building only the other day. Their auras seemed to spar with each other, seeking openings, weaknesses – and all too often, finding only strengths and walls. The Chancellor's rotten, smoky red-yellow aura was deflected by the bright steel and amethyst of the Jedi Master.

It was just a theory, but wasn't it always the way? For even a little bit of light to ward off the dark?

With that truth in mind, she lifted a hand, stretched it out, and let herself_ glow_. Silvery-blue in reality, the luminosity around her grew, expanded, hardened, became a wall of solid light. Even though the Force felt so cold, so empty and hollow, there was more to it than death and darkness. It never was meant to be this way, a thing that echoed only death and pain. Life created it, bound it together and made it grow. Four living men, one little girl and two ghosts were such small things in comparison to the vastness of it, but it was from them that the Force was meant to come. It came from the _courage_ of Ashla, from the _determination_ of the four soldiers, from the utter and complete _love_-tinged-_strength_ she felt from the man holding her hand.

The power of the Force came from the people who created it, and those people had enough courage, determination, love, strength and _goodness_ within them to ignite the stars.

The brightness became incandescent, flickering but potent against the shadows of the room, like stars against the black of night, and it was enough. The Son slowed, stopped short of the barrier she built, and looked at it, the smoky body around him growing still enough to begin to coalesce, the high ruff around his neck taking shape, then a pair of shoulders and an arm and a hand and fingers that were lifting.

She felt his touch when he placed fingertips onto the surface of her light barrier. His flesh was cold, and the caress so gentle it was eerie, and she felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. As his fingers slid over the surface of her luminosity, it rippled, pooled, and left trails where his hand passed by. He tilted his head and looked at her, and she glared in response. The smirk on his lips broadened slightly. "Clever. You've learned something."

Disgust warred with the determination to protect at least these few living people around her. She watched him for any sign her wall of light was susceptible to him, for any fresh attack, and her voice was clipped when she ordered, "Chopper, get Ashla out of here. All of you, get out."

They hesitated. This battle was strange, and brothers or commanders were not left on the field to fight alone. Desire to stay, to help, made them waver, and she commanded again, "Now!"

This time, they obeyed. At first their movements were slow, but they grew faster, each man moving towards the exit, covering the other though they all knew by now that their blasters would have no real effect on this enemy. The Son watched them retreat only with amusement, lips curving upward into a near smile.

She heard feet on the marble steps leading from the room. Most were heavy; one pair was soft, barely audible. Though there was _reluctance_ and _worry_, _fear_ and _regret_ trailing in the wake of the men, there was a different kind of sadness mingling with those emotions. It was softer, older, a feeling of lingering _remorse_, of _hope_ faded and tattered, but mixed with the oddest feeling of _pride_, even _happiness_.

Ahsoka turned her head slightly, just enough to look beyond the shadowy form of the Son, and on to the stricken face of Ashla of the Bear Clan.

She'd always thought well of the girl.

They were never friends, not quite, but Ashla always seemed to be around. Ahsoka would see her dancing at Ullambana gatherings, the patterns of her steps measured and controlled, though there was always a spark of excitement in her dark eyes that spoke of her love for the rhythm and the movement of the ceremony around the fire. Her bare feet would twirl her across the ground, lift into the air and then come down onto the earth. Her silhouette against the group of Ullambana candles would be small and a little awkward beside those who were older, more skilled, better trained. But that was always the way of the learner beside her teachers.

Ashla was sometimes awkward with her training saber, but she could be elegant too, and Ahsoka would sometimes see her in the training arenas and wonder if she looked like that when she was Ashla's age, more excitement and determination than skill or finesse. In the moments when Ashla found her balance, there was a grace to her spins, and a resonating hum to the path of her training saber when she succeeded in a block, a strike, or a leap. Ahsoka could remember her own joy in moments like that, when everything came together and simply felt right, like the Force was singing in her veins and carrying her though the air.

She told Rex the truth, a few days ago on Saleucami. She'd wanted a Padawan, and she'd hoped it would have been Ashla. This was probably the only thing she could do for the girl, now. Give her a chance to survive, and hopefully to live, too. She couldn't be there to train her, to watch her grow, to see her montrals gain height and her lekku gain length, and her skills gain sharpness and power. Having a Padawan had always seemed like a matter of course, an eventuality she expected and looked forward to. Perhaps until now she hadn't realized how much she wanted that. Ashla would have no Master at all now. She, and any other survivors like her, were all that was left of the Jedi Order. Little lights meant to float through the oncoming dark.

Ashla was being led away by Chopper, her lightsaber still lit in her hand.

Ahsoka smiled, and briefly it was returned. Then, as the blue pillar of light in Ashla's hand was doused, there were only shadows before the girl was gone.

Jesse was last from the room. He hesitated as Gus, then Tup, followed Chopper and Ashla through the doorway, but that pause lingered, as though he was wondering if maybe, in the end, he should stay. He didn't. His exit was slow, and when the Galactic Roundel patterned on his helmet also slipped through the door, the room seemed so much emptier. They had few choices available to them. Who would listen to a few clones and a kid, shouting about monsters and ghosts in the dark? The Jedi had already lost this battle. The tide was turned against them, and any allies they had. Survival was up to those four men and that little girl, now.

She could only hope they would think to run.

The Son moved, slowly. He'd watched them as they slipped out through the doorway, and how he turned back to herself and to Rex beside her. The black miasma around him writhed slowly, curling and fading out into the air as it roiled. The amusement on his face was still present, and there was a deep kind of _satisfaction_ around him.

Jedi were not supposed to feel anger. Or, at least, they were not supposed to let it control them. There were moments like this, though, when it was hard. The home of her childhood was in ruins, men she trusted were the ones to make it that way, the Order to which she belonged was being annihilated, and one of the most terrifying creatures she'd ever met was standing so close to her and smiling comfortably with his triumph. It hurt, seeing someone enjoying the suffering of others, the ruin of so much of what she held dear. But if it was anger she felt, it was righteous anger. The Jedi did not deserve this. No one did. No little girls deserved to see their friends and teachers slaughtered and their homes invaded. No men who trusted their leaders implicitly deserved to be used to enact crimes against sentients, to be reduced to nothing more than tools by evil men, to be made into the machines which they sometimes feared they were.

Rex's hand was crushing hers, his grip was so tight, and that pain helped to bring her attention back to the moment. The Son was backlit by her wall of light, rendering him into little more than a profile, a blend of solidity and smoke. Ahsoka grit her teeth and ground out, "What have you done?"

He turned away from her barrier and slipped a little away from it, back into the deeper shadows of the room. The smile on his face was a constant. "Far less than you would think." The smile broadened momentarily, then faded into something more thoughtful. "Three words. In the end, three words was all it took to make it all come toppling down. Far less work than I expected. But then, it was always meant to be this way."

Three words? _Execute Order Sixty-six_? Silvery light seemed to brighten, then contract, grow closer to her and denser as the barrier retracted and returned to her halo of her aura. The flickering lights in the room shifted and danced at the change, and the Son scowled momentarily as he skirted the almost watery brightness that surrounded the two ghosts opposing him. Smoke and shadows thickened around him even as the luminosity around the ghosts condensed and began to glitter. Ahsoka grimaced at the sight of him. He'd already won, but seeing him so reluctant to engage her was at least a paltry bit of victory.

"So you're behind this?"

The Son chuckled, the irritation sweeping off his face with the return of his amusement. Was it the Son all this time? It didn't quite fit, though. He was stuck on Mortis, before. Then he was dead. The Sith were a more mortal threat, less smoke and shadows and more manipulation and violence. "Hardly," the Son replied, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. "This was always Palpatine's clever little idea. Insidious, that one."

His tone was so casual, she almost dismissed it, but there was a catch in his words, something that alerted her and gave her pause. There was no reason to trust anything the Son said, but they already knew the Chancellor was working for the Sith. The Son was essentially only stating what they already knew, that he was involved. But there was a slightly different implication in the phrase. The Son wasn't just saying the Chancellor went along with the idea, but actually came up with it himself.

She felt it in her belly before it registered in her mind. Something cold began to spread from her center and out through her limbs. The clones enacted Order 66. It would have to have been in their training for years, since even before the war began. If the Chancellor was the one to ensure that was in their training, he'd have been working with the Sith for just as long. Ahsoka did not move her gaze from the Son, but she felt Rex's hand in hers. Rex was what, twelve? when he was killed. Twelve years. Not three, or less than three, but at least twelve years, back to when the Republic placed an order with the Kaminoans for a clone army. That was before Dooku revealed himself as a Sith. Dooku, who had a spirit-light so remarkably similar to Palpatine's – and, really, so similar to the Son's. Corrupt, clouded, foul.

The realization was so cold. "The Chancellor isn't working for the Sith. The Chancellor _is_ the Sith."

The Son smiled.

She couldn't look at that smile. Her eyes lowered. Rex's hand was firm in hers, but she felt the rising tide of alarm building within him, the sick feeling of his own understanding only a heartbeat behind hers. Twelve years since Rex was born. A year, perhaps, before that, for the Kaminoans to set up the cloning program, find and recruit Jango Fett, and get production under way. Thirteen, perhaps fourteen years ago. How far back did this go? Palpatine was a politician for a living. His history went back years, decades. He was a Senator of Naboo before Chancellor, and for Padme when she was queen. He spent years in the Senate, as both a Senator and as Chancellor. He was friends with Anakin, who always spoke so highly of him, as a friend and benefactor.

Anakin. Her head snapped back up so she could once again look at the Son. The Son who had an unhealthy interest in Anakin on Mortis, even managed recruiting him for a time – just like he did her. Anakin Skywalker, the Chosen One, who was supposed to put an end to the Sith and bring balance to the Force. Her lips curled back, baring her teeth in some primal display of warning. "Where is Anakin? Where is Master Skywalker?"

The Son seemed disinclined to taking her warning, and in fact seemed to be becoming a bit bored. "Dead." He shrugged idly, and chuckled once, slightly, at her look of horror. "Or consumed, depending on your point of view." The easy smile slipped back onto his face, and the shadows climbed up from below him, curling silkily up his body as he spoke, until he was little more than a pale face and red eyes. "It's strange. It always seemed the Prophecy of the Chosen One would involve balance. Of standing between the Dark and the Light and forcing them to play counterpoint to each other. Father always sought to control us. Strange instead that it should be a choice." He raised one smoke-shrouded hand, then the other, as though weighing something vast between them. "Good or evil. Love…or hate." His hands faded away and he seemed to step back further into the darkness offered by the shadows in the far side of the room, and the smile slipped again from his face, which turned cold and hard. "It's the dark side of democracy, you know. The freedom to choose wrong."

The Chosen One, and the freedom to choose wrong. Not a balance, but a choice, and a wrong one. If Anakin truly was the Chosen One, and he chose right, restored balance to the Force and destroyed the Sith, then the Jedi Temple would not be in ruins right now.

It couldn't be true. "He'd never join you."

The hard expression on the Son's face softened into amusement once more. "Believe what you will. The evidence surrounds you. You already feel it in your heart." There was no expression on his face, only a mildness that came with stating an obvious fact. His tone was almost gentle, pitying, if such a man had anything like gentleness or pity about him. "You already know that it is true." The calmness on his face twisted then, back into a more sinister expression. "And it will continue to be true, until the end of this time."

With those words, the shadows converged, and there was a roar as the Son flung his head back and his body changed shape. The darkness of his being stretched outward, reformed into a pair of leathery wings and a red-striped, flattened head. Jagged teeth crowned his mouth, from which a reverberating roar came. His wings lifted, cupped air and then beat downwards, propelling him upward and through the ceiling, sleek streams of smoke trailing after until they too disappeared, fading away into the shadows of the communication room.

Little by little, the silvery-blue light of two visible ghosts changed. The pale blue deepened in tone, taking on richer cerulean hues. Threads the color of sunlight or of emeralds began to weave themselves into the cobalt colors, giving the spirit-lights of Ahsoka and Rex complexity and variation as they faded out of sight.

Rex moved, placing his free hand on her shoulder as he stood across from her. His voice was low, pitched to be comforting as much as to catch her attention. "Ahsoka. He's just trying to gloat."

The Son was everything Dark, everything hate and anger and lies, but the truth could hurt, too. For a bitter moment, she squeezed her eyes shut, seeing stars behind her eyelids. "You don't gloat over a lie."

Ahsoka lifted up her right hand, just enough so that she could expose the inside of her forearm. The flesh there was soft, sienna, unmarred. There was no scar. Everything about Mortis seemed like a dream, and dreams did not leave marks on the skin. There were no puncture holes where the Son bit her, infected her with a darkness that was not of her choosing. She shuddered, her shoulders tensing together and she shook her head and her lekku swayed in defiance. It couldn't have been a choice. What could possibly make Master Skywalker choose wrong? Choose the Son? Choose the Sith? Did Palpatine truly have that kind of hold over him? Her hand became a fist, and she saw muscles and tendons move underneath the surface of her skin.

It couldn't be true. She looked up at Rex. The expression of his helmet was blank, as always, but his spirit-light was flowing from him like water, sliding down the surface of hers in waves of _reassurance_ and _companionship_. Part of her wanted to simply step forward, wrap her arms around Rex's waist, hold and be held, and let the Son's words be just words, and lying words too.

It couldn't be true. Not entirely. Maybe he was lying about it being a choice, even if it were true Anakin had gone over to the Dark. Maybe Anakin just needed to be woken up, as she had. Maybe it could still be fixed, somehow. At least a part of it. She and Rex could help. And Obi-Wan. And Padme. Anakin would listen to them, wouldn't he? Surely all of them, together, could find some way to get through to him?

"We have to find him."

She hoped Rex didn't recognize her newfound sense of uncertainty. The Dark Side was a choice, not a disease, whatever happened to her on Mortis. Had the Son bitten him, too? Infected Anakin like a virus? Or in his victory, did the Son tell the truth? That Anakin had changed willingly? Three words. What three words had the Son spoken to change everything?

Rex nodded once, and took her other hand, so both of hers were enveloped in his. "Ready."

Ahsoka closed her eyes, and reached out, seeking the Force signature she knew so well…and could not find. She frowned a little, looking down at her hands, joined with Rex's. Her aurora colors pooled into his colors of sky and sun, circling hands and wrists. Closing her eyes again, she fixed the image of Master Skywalker firmly in her mind, of his familiar face, head tilted slightly to the side as he gave a wry grin and an arched brow. She pushed forward, reached, propelled herself towards him, towards that memory of an amused smile and reassuring presence.

She found only a void. There was no reassuring presence, no amused smile, no _happiness_. This was not the man she called teacher, friend, brother-of-her-heart. She could not reach him, though she tried. Her fingers grasped only air and darkness. The blue-green of her spirit light bent, folded, grew slow from a gravity that weighted him and blackened him and consumed all that was around him. There was only a fragile thread of familiarity to his presence, a limitless power that she recognized in him in moments of desperation. The rest was mutilated, wrong, consumed by dark when there should have been an equal portion of light.

When she opened her mouth to cry out to him, the sound, too, was swallowed by black silence.

Somewhere in the distance, there was a pinpoint of light pulling her as well, and she stretched towards it. Her outstretched hand did not meet emptiness, but something solid, firm, and the prick of light that was a moment ago so far grew closer, warmer, brighter, until it filled her vision with the blue of a sky with the sun centered within it, and she realized she was lying on the floor with Rex hovering over her, squeezing her hand in his and calling her name.

He helped her sit upright, slowly, and the world seemed to tilt for several seconds. Rex adjusted his grip on her, and she found her head wedged into the crook of his neck as he tucked her closer. The motion was steadying, almost soothing, and she shook her head minutely to clear it from the sickening pull of the Dark Side and the understanding that it was coming from Anakin Skywalker.

Was it his choice? Or was he forced into it? Ahsoka knew which she wanted to believe, which she hoped was true.

But deep in her heart, she knew. It was only that she didn't understand _why_.

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><p>This chapter drove me more than a little crazy. I hope it came out alright. Music for this chapter (and the last!) is <em>Time<em> from the soundtrack to _Inception_, by Hans Zimmer.

~Queen


	30. Three Visitations

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>Chapter 28. Three Visitations<p>

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><p><em><strong>Cody<strong>_:

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><p>It did not feel like victory.<p>

It should have; this victory on Utapau marked the beginning of the end of the war. Grievous was dead. It was only a matter of time before the rest of the Separatist council was found. In the time leading up to the battle, there was anticipation in the air of the _Vigilance_, an eagerness that was not often found before the fighting began. This was a fight they all looked forward to, because of what it meant: an end. An end to all the fighting, to all the death and destruction, to losing brothers and friends, to being woken in the middle of the night for a mission briefing or to alarms screaming warnings in the air. It meant an end to the threat to the Republic. It meant they succeeded in their mission objective. It meant they survived.

Victories were celebrated by life resuming its sense of normalcy. It meant men in the showers washing off grime and blood, it meant men in the infirmary getting stitched back together, it meant going to the mess and filling an empty stomach, and perhaps most importantly, it meant sitting together with brothers and mourning the dead while feeling remarkably alive.

Victory was not supposed to be quiet. Hard won victory was sometimes subdued, but it was never this ghostly silent. Such a victory as this should have had the men thrumming with excitement, exchanging stories of survival and calling out to each other as they found others who lived.

He understood too well why. He didn't feel like celebrating either. The cost was too high, too bitter, too bizarre.

General Kenobi was a traitor. The Jedi were traitors. It seemed impossible, but the order came from the Chancellor himself. He should be happy that he'd executed his orders so well, so unquestioningly, with such quick efficiency. It was everything he prided himself on. He should feel pleased that his loyalty to the Republic outweighed any personal loyalty to a single man.

He shouldn't be pleased that the probe droids didn't find Kenobi's body. Cody knew Kenobi well enough to know that if there was no body, the man simply wasn't dead, as unlikely as it was. He shouldn't harbor a feeling of relief for a traitor. It was wrong. He was better than that.

Cody pulled his helmet off his head and set it aside. His bunk had rarely looked so appealing, and the privacy afforded him as a Commander was a relief. He didn't have to look at his brothers faces as they tried to make sense of what could have caused their General to turn against everything they fought for. To turn against them. He didn't have to explain reasons why to anyone; the Chancellor had given the order, not him, and he didn't have any more knowledge about the situation than they did.

It took only a few moments to peel himself out of his armor, to loosen fastenings and slip out of gauntlet, greave, and spaulder. He stowed them neatly under his bunk. They needed cleaning, but that could wait a couple hours while he slept just a little. He'd taken no significant injuries, but there were bruises forming across his lower back, his head ached, and his hands hurt from the tight grip he had on his blaster. He'd shower, too. Hot water, soap, and some sleep. Things would make more sense after he got those.

Sitting on the edge of his bunk, he placed his elbows on his knees and looked at his hands. How long ago was it, he'd held a Jedi's hand, however briefly? Days? Weeks? Did it matter anymore? She would be cut down too, along with all the others. He shouldn't feel loss because of one touch; shouldn't feel loss because of a traitor.

Encased in his gauntlets for the duration of the battle, there was no blood or dirt encrusting them, only sweat and a feeling of being unclean. He ran them over his face and grimaced as the lights in his room flickered, dulled, then brightened again, but with a strangely blue sheen.

Cody looked up, and found Rex standing beside his desk, leaning against the wall. One arm was folded over his chest, hand loosely gripping the opposing elbow. The other arm hung down his side, growing hazy towards his hand. His helmet was clipped to his belt, distinctive jaig eyes staring at him, upside down. Rex's face was composed, neutral save for the tiredness in his eyes and a bit of tension between his brows. He was also translucent, with a hazy grayish-blue light emanating from him.

"I could have sworn I survived the battle," Cody said tiredly, and Rex's lips quirked temporarily into a smile.

"I'm not here to drag you off to the afterlife." His head tilted to the side and he frowned again. "Though you do look like hell."

His hands were clean, but they felt dirty. Cody made them into fists and tried to ignore the feeling. "We won. Nasty fight." He paused, then added, "Order 66 was initiated."

There was silence as a response, and when Cody looked up again, Rex was studying the floor, his eyes lowered and his frown even deeper. Cody's hands clenched. "I did what I was supposed to. The Chancellor gave the order. I followed it. The Jedi are traitors to the Republic. We've won the war. We'll get the rest of the Sep leaders, next. Grievous is dead. The General killed him."

Rex's eyes lifted from the floor to meet his. "I know."

Rex was so calm it was irritating. Cody scowled up at him, then stood. "My loyalty is to the Republic. I stood up against an evil hiding at the heart of the Republic. Against treason! I did what I had to!"

"There is no more Republic." Rex was looking at him evenly, and he straightened, removing his shoulder from where he leaned up against the wall. "There is no more Republic, Cody. Right now, on Coruscant, the Chancellor is declaring himself the head of the Galactic Empire. The evil at the heart of the Republic wasn't the Jedi. It was the Chancellor."

Treason. That was treason. But Rex wouldn't ever turn traitor. It was all for the Republic. What Empire? Cody turned away. Rex was dead. There was no such thing as ghosts. Just scary fantasies to frighten civilian children. "You're not even real. I'm dreaming."

"Your gut's telling you it's wrong Cody. Give your head a bit of time to understand why."

Dirty hands that looked clean. A three year friendship with one Jedi. A simple touch of hands with another. It wasn't right. No. He'd done what was needed. What was necessary. It didn't matter what he thought. He obeyed orders, followed directions. He did it well, and it was what made him a good commander. Wasn't it? Wasn't it that faith that made him who he was? That trust in those above him to do what was right? To tell him what to do?

He'd never had reason to disbelieve General Kenobi. No reason to doubt him, and every reason to follow him. But there were larger things than believing in one man.

Though wasn't the Chancellor just one man, too?

"Empire." He tasted the word. It tasted heavy, metallic, a little bitter, like touching a sharp vibroblade to his tongue. An Empire, not a Republic. How different were they, made up of the same men under new names? He looked at Rex. Too many of the good ones were dead, and there were days he wondered why he hadn't followed them yet. Rex was dead, and Commander Tano. General Kenobi would be caught eventually and killed, as would General Skywalker and General Offee and who knew how many others? If the Republic was gone, where did he belong? If all the best people were gone, who was left? Who was he supposed to listen to? Supposed to follow? To whom or to what should he give his allegiance? "What am I supposed to do, then?"

When Rex smiled this time, it wasn't sad. It was wry, and a little warm, the way it was when he was about to say something Cody knew was right, but wouldn't like very much. "That's up to you. Things get complicated when you have to think for yourself. But I think you'll figure it out."

The lambent light that filled the room began to fade, from silvery-blue to pale grey, then to nothing but the artificial light from the lamp in the ceiling.

Cody sat alone in the room and began to doubt.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Ashla<strong>_:

* * *

><p>Even the rain in this place was dirty.<p>

Ashla pulled the hood higher up over her montrals, casting her eyes into deeper shadow. Slimy water slid around the edges of her hood, then dribbled off just under her chin, where it was tied. She kept her head down. It would be good to get away from Nar Shaddaa. She didn't like it here. Everything felt dirty, acidic, just like the rain that was falling from the sky. It wasn't a storm, just a dull, constant grey drizzle. Her shoes were soaked, and her feet damp. The wet only intensified the cold, and she shivered, digging further into her coat and seeking warmth it was reluctant to present.

They'd all gotten new clothes once they'd arrived on the moon. This was by far the furthest from Coruscant that Ashla had ever been, and she didn't like it at all. Tup told her not everywhere was as dirty as this, but it was hard to believe. Nothing was at all like Coruscant, or the Temple. It was more than just dirtiness, though. It was the feeling of rot in the place. It was too reminiscent of the way that monster-man made of shadows felt. So much of everything here felt _corrupted, fouled_. There was such a bitter feeling everywhere she went, it was as though no one trusted anyone else, no one liked or befriended anyone else. She passed one building that felt like _greed_ only to walk past another that felt like _pain_, and yet another that felt like _loneliness_. She couldn't understand why these people stayed here, where there was so much darkness. Everyone seemed to be suffering somehow, even when they smiled or laughed.

Her feet moved through another puddle, kicking up water. Chopper tugged her along, not unkindly, but more roughly than she liked. He didn't seem to understand why she couldn't keep up with him, even though it was obvious her legs were just shorter. Ashla picked up her pace, trotting along more quickly as they moved towards the spaceport.

Somewhere in the crowd of people, Tup, Gus, and Jesse were also moving towards ticket booths. They couldn't stay here. Even though Nar Shaddaa was notorious for back alley deals, their selling a ship set with Jedi transponder codes would make them a target for anyone hoping to make a few credits off their misfortune. They all had to disappear.

None of the four men wanted to. Last night, when they heard the Chancellor's speech about the Jedi revolt and the new Galactic Empire, they'd grown quiet. The Chancellor was the Emperor now, and the leader of the galaxy was a Sith. She hadn't understood everything Ahsoka and the others said in the communications room, but she understood that much. The Chancellor – the Emperor – was everything nightmares are made of. Everything she was taught to be wary of, to distrust, to fight against.

Ashla glanced up at Chopper as they got in line. He was a frightening looking man, and that seemed to be helpful here. People gave them a wide berth, and he only had to glare at them hard enough to make them go away. It made her feel a little safer, knowing someone that terrifying was on her side, but she still watched the four clones warily. Hearing the Republic was dead had done something to them, taken something away she wasn't able to define. She only knew that there was a new _sadness_ to them now, and a sense of _loss_ that was similar to their own. She worried about them, and hoped they wouldn't go back to work for the Sith. She'd told them stories, last night, after the announcement. She told them the stories about the Sith that she knew from the older Padawans. Of people who cared nothing for others, only their own power, and how they would enslave other people to do their will, how they murdered and corrupted and enjoyed the pain they brought to other people. How they thought suffering was good. How they stalked the night and tried to lure the unsuspecting with promises and lies.

She hoped they understood they couldn't go back. That they shouldn't want to, or the Sith would kill them, too.

"Two for Shili."

Ashla tilted her head up as they shuffled forward to the front of the line. Fortunately, there was an overhang above the booth, and they stepped momentarily out of the drizzle. There was a green Twi'lek woman on the other side of the transparasteel window, and she was scowling at Chopper, then at her. The woman's eyes narrowed as they turned back to Chopper. "You don't look like no Togruta," she said flatly, her voice slightly mechanized by the vocalizer fixed in the center of the window.

Chopper got that frightening look on his face, and his eyes went hard. "Shili," he repeated frostily as he slammed a set of credits onto the counter, and Ashla tried not to wince at the sound. She'd never been to Shili. The clones couldn't stay there, they'd stand out too much, but she could. Part of her didn't want to leave them, but she knew it wasn't really safe, either. Four men with one little girl would stand out, anywhere in the galaxy. But they were going to find her somewhere safe. She'd never been to Shili, but she was Togruta, and it was the only home she had now. If she couldn't be with her people as a Jedi, she could be with them as a Togruta. There was still one home for her, even if she had never seen it.

"Hey, kid," the woman called, and Chopper stiffened beside her in a sudden fit of controlled _fury_. The ticket lady was looking down at her from heavily made up eyes. "That your daddy, little girl?"

Ashla blinked up at her, then up at Chopper, who was reddening from a peculiar mixture of _embarrassment_ and _anger_. The ticket lady was a lot like most of the other people on Nar Shaddaa; tired, careworn, a little angry. There were tattoos running up her arms, colorful ones with lots of ink. At first glance, she would have seemed intimidating, with all the tattoos and makeup and scowling, but there was _concern_ mixed in with the _anger_, _solicitude_ with the _suspicion_. The woman was worried about her.

Ashla wasn't so young that she didn't know what slavers were. If she'd forgotten, Jesse had given her enough warnings in the last three days to remember. There was a lot of scum on Nar Shaddaa, he said, and she wasn't to go off with anyone. Ashla smiled up at the woman. She was a kind person, and though she didn't like being deceitful, she also couldn't let the lady take her away from the few friends she had.

"He's not my dad," Ashla said, and the woman's face hardened as her attention swiveled up to Chopper, who stiffened and looked at her in alarm. Ashla stepped closer and hugged his arm. "He's my stepdad. We're going to see Mom in Corvala." The Twi'lek lady returned her attention to Ashla, and Ashla smiled at her. "He's not a slaver, I promise. I'm not supposed to go with slavers or people I don't know."

The ticket lady blinked at her from violet-lidded eyes, then a brow quirked upward as the air of _suspicion_ around her faded and was replaced with _amusement_. She shot Chopper one last skeptical look, then punched a button on her side of the window. A droid arm popped up from the base of the counter, scooped up the credits still sitting there, and moved them to the ticket lady's side. Two tickets popped up from a slot in the counter, and Chopper swiped them, still glaring at the ticket lady.

She returned the glare full force, before switching her attention back to Ashla and giving her a small wave with a smile. Her eyes crinkled deeply at the corners. "You take care of yourself, eh, kid?"

Ashla gave her a brief wave, just as Chopper hauled her away from the ticket booth and back out into the rain. She hurried to keep up, scurrying alongside him. The spaceport loomed large as they entered the doors. The lobby itself was dim, lit mostly by the flashing neon lights of a bar, a liquor store, a place selling cigarras and cigarettes, a newsstand, and a small bakery with boxed meals in the window. A variety of beings moved across the lobby, some drifting, some hurrying, some pausing to look at the meals in the shop window or at the headlines at the newsstand. A peal of raucous laughter rolled out of the bar, along with a cloud of stinky cigarra smoke. Chopper was grimacing, looking at the tickets and trying to decide which way to the correct port, and Ashla took the opportunity to look around.

In one corner, near the flickering neon sign of the cigarra stand, there were two figures that glowed on their own. One shared a face with the man whose hand she was holding, though he was in full armor. Chopper and the others called him 'Captain' or 'Rex' when they talked about what happened in the communication room. The other was Ahsoka, and she was smiling. Her head was slightly tilted to one side, just enough for her lekku to hang at a slant.

Ahsoka was already dead, so Ashla wasn't sure if the monster-man was able to hurt her, but she seemed unharmed. The man named Rex also seemed to be alright, holding Ahsoka's hand and watching with a small smile on his lips as well.

Amid all the chaos, they were safe, and so was she.

Chopper pulled on her hand again, turning left and towards another hallway. By the time Ashla was able to turn back, to wave, to return their smiles and their encouragement, the two ghosts had disappeared, and the corner where they stood was now dark.

It didn't matter. It hurt, knowing there was so much darkness in the galaxy, that so much was going wrong. She smiled anyway. There was still goodness out there, and people who still cared. Chopper half dragged her along the hallway, and as she struggled to keep up, she looked at his big hand encompassing her small one, and felt a little better.

She wasn't alone.

* * *

><p><em><strong>Shaak Ti<strong>_:

* * *

><p>The silence was growing.<p>

There was a hum to the Force, a song that vibrated between stars and planets, rich and deep as they moved in their courses. In her deepest moments of meditation, she could almost sing to it, her lips moving of their own accord, in some attempt to give voice to the tune. But in these last days, the song faltered, stumbled, grew languid and broken, suddenly unsure of itself. It became filled with discordant notes, caesura, and spreading silence. The order of the universe was broken; discord was not meant to overcome the harmony of the spheres.

The Dark Side was not meant to overcome the Light.

She leaned back deeply into her seat and opened her dark grey eyes briefly. The swirl of colors fled past her shuttle's cockpit viewport swiftly, lavender and blue and white. Hyperspace seemed much as it always had, fleeting, beautiful, and a little bit beyond reality. Even so, it was a part of the energy of the universe, and the Force was muted here as well. The silence only seemed somewhat softer. A slow breath later, she closed her eyes again, wishing to meditate further. The mental quiet meditation offered was so different from the spreading silence. There, she could find some small measure of relief, though not for long; there was too much to consider, too much to plan for, too much to worry about. She may be the last of the Council. The clones swept through the Temple so swiftly, and so few escaped, herself among them.

She never minded independence, unlike so many other Togruta. As a younger woman, she often reveled in the freedom it presented. This, though, felt like the first time she was alone.

Except that, at this particular moment, she was not. Her grey lips pressed together slightly, and her eyes opened to again see the swirl of hyperspace beyond her window. But there was another light in the room, grey and soft, and she swiveled her chair towards its point of origin.

This time, there was no slow fade in of visibility; the Padawan known as Ahsoka Tano was simply there, pale silver and still, watching her from serious eyes though there was a small smile on her lips that spoke of relief.

Shaak Ti's hands, resting on the arms of her chair, lifted. She folded them across her chest and bowed ever so slightly towards the spectral form of the young woman already at one with the Force. "You honor me again, departed one."

This time, when Ahsoka Tano opened her mouth, it was not silence that flowed from it, but sound. It filled the room with vibration, a smaller, gentler version of the sound of the Force, and it rang deep and pleasant in her montrals, warm and kind. "I'm glad you survived, Master Ti."

Shaak could only smile, pleased that the girl cared so about her safety, even from beyond death. She only wished she could return the words, but Padawan Tano was already dead, and beyond such cares. The younger Togruta turned slightly to look out the viewport, the silver-grey of her shape flickering at the movement. "Where are you headed?"

Her hands slid down from her chest, and she set her sienna hands down onto her thighs lightly. There was a blur beside the Padawan, a smudge of extra light that seemed connected to one of her hands. The ghost's other hand was resting just on the ledge of the navigation console, as though she were eager to reach out and take the controls, but was restraining herself from taking action. Shaak followed her gaze towards the stream of hyperspace. "Felucia," she answered. "The Jedi Order must persevere. The planet is rich in the Force."

"You are not the only survivor."

Shaak Ti breathed in, deep and slow and hopeful, and Padawan Tano continued, "Master Yoda survived, and so did Master Kenobi."

She was not the last of the Council. There were others. So very few, but in them, the essence of the Order would be preserved, through the core tenets of its teachings. Now, more than ever, it was imperative they passed on what they learned. So long as there were Sith, there would, too, be Jedi. Her hands, resting in her lap, curled around the thick brown fabric of her robes.

But Padawan Tano was continuing to speak, and her next words were startling and encouraging. "So did Ashla."

Ashla of the Bear Clan was a youngling, would have been with the other children in the crèche when it was assaulted. The expression on her face must have been wondrous, because Padawan Tano smiled, the grey light around her glittering like starlight.

"She was fierce, and she was lucky," the ghost spoke again. "Four clone troopers are escorting her to Shili. They're keeping her safe."

Four clone troopers, protecting a Jedi. A week ago, that would have been simply understood. Now, though, it was a miracle. Those that the former Chancellor would call traitors, she would, instead, call heroes.

Ashla was going to Shili. Ashla was going_ home_.

The girl would need a Master. A Master. For a moment, she wondered, as she looked at the ghost of Ahsoka Tano. It was hard to sense anything from her; she felt like an echo, a projection, and her feelings were far away. Standing before the navigation console, she was in profile, her montrals curving slightly upward on her head, her lekku only halfway down her chest, still so adolescent in shape and length. But there was nothing of the child about her. Her lips smiled, but her eyes, staring into the streaming light of the stars, were hard. Not jaded, not cynical, but hard. Too much like those of a Knight far beyond her years, or an old Master like herself who had seen too many battles and too many losses.

She had never thought of herself as a mother, but as a teacher and a mentor, and in those things, she was content. Perhaps, in this moment though, she wished she could stand and take the younger woman in her arms and comfort her, the way one of the youngling minders would, or perhaps a parent.

"You know who led the attack on the Temple," Shaak said quietly, and though Padawan Tano did not flinch, she blinked once, hard, and bowed her head. "I am sorry."

Padawan Tano shook her head once, still fixing her gaze on hyperspace. "No. I'm sorry. I should have –" Her words broke off, and the light around her flickered and blurred, softening, brightening, expanding for several long moments as she tilted her head to the side and seemed to listen to something Shaak could not hear. Then her eyes closed, her head bowed again, and she nodded once as the light around her sharpened and re-solidified.

When Padawan Tano spoke again, her voice was rich and sad, her words a simple request. "This isn't over, Master Ti. Please, pass on what you've learned."

The smile on her face was sad, but determined, and it was the last part of Ahsoka Tano to fade away. The cockpit seemed so empty now, void of the ghost-light of the young Togruta, and the shadows crept back into their corners from where they were banished.

Felucia, and a possible revolution - or Shili, and a single Padawan?

Amid the silence and the streaming light of space, Shaak Ti leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes, and chose.

* * *

><p>I was initially going to skip from the events of chapter 28 straight to the events of chapter 30, but remembered there was actually the span of a few days between Operation Knightfall and the events on Mustafar, so we have a little bit of a spacer here. Originally, I was going to try to include a scene with Barriss on Felucia during Order 66, but there was too much happening at once, and Ahsoka and Rex needed to be on Coruscant, so Barriss' scene got, unfortunately, cut. And this got added.<p>

Music for this chapter is _Adiemus_, by Adiemus, again, as well as _Time_ from the _Inception_ soundtrack, again.

We're closing up on the end. Next stop, Mustafar!

~Queen


	31. An Intuition of Mortality

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p><em>We must be born with an intuition of mortality. <em>

_Before we know the word for it. _

_Before we know that there are words. _

_Out we come, bloodied and squalling, with the knowledge that _

_for all the points of the compass, there's only one direction. _

_And time is its only measure._

_- Rosencrantz, 'Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead'_

* * *

><p>Chapter 30. An Intuition of Mortality<p>

* * *

><p>The darkness drew her as much as it repulsed her.<p>

Each time she reached out, tried to see him, tried to imagine his friendly face grinning down at her, she found only the darkness, the broken stumbling pain that pulled at her like an undertow. It would be too easy to drown that way, letting herself be swept away by his rising tide of _despair, anger, hate, desperation_. She could go to him; let herself get pulled along by the current of familiarity that always drew her to him, but to do so would mean she would lose herself and also be consumed.

Anakin Skywalker was changed beyond almost beyond recognition. The only real similarity was the sheer power of the man, the strength. That powerful draw was a thing he'd always had, but before it was a charisma, a sense of caring, a fierce friendship. Now it was a thing perverted, coercive rather than kind.

So the two ghosts watched as the tragedy unfolded, a little more every minute. They found bodies, some bleeding and warm, some burnt and blackened, some no more than a smear of char or a scattering of mechanical parts and a memory. The living were too far outweighed by the dead.

Those who lived, mourned, mostly in solitude. Sometimes, though, there was a pair of ghosts beside them, standing silently by as they shared the grief.

The two specters sought one friend after another, visiting, watching and waiting.

And it was in this manner that they searched.

It was just over twenty-four hours since they last checked in with Padme.

She had been sitting in her apartments on Coruscant, elbows on her knees and her face in her hands, long chocolate curls of her hair falling loose and disheveled over her shoulders. She shivered, but there was no sound of weeping from her. Despite her sorrow, she was safe, and whole, and that was as much as anyone could ask these last few days.

Even before Ahsoka opened her eyes, she knew Padme was no longer on Coruscant. The heat in this place struck a blow against the memory of her skin, warming her nonexistent flesh until it stung. The air was cloying with the stink of sulfur and burning metal, soot and scorched stone. Sharp, bitter and pungent, she breathed it into lungs that no longer needed to limit the inhalation of smoke.

Slowly, her eyes opened, and were struck with the sharp contrast of deep shadows strangely lit by rivers of flowing, melted stone, all cast in the haze of ash colored clouds tunneling around a pale, distant sun. It was not the first time she had seen a world so volcanic that there seemed to be more fire than earth to it. This place could be Lola Sayu as far as appearance, but there was some difference to it, something almost indefinable. Lola Sayu felt like a cage, its aura tinted by the presence of the Citadel built deep into that world, like a pair of jealous claws sinking into flesh, intending to keep you there forever. She knew this place, felt its _wrathfulness, sullenness_, its sense of repressed _rage_ that slipped through the cracks in a molten ooze, filling every place with the sense of oncoming armageddon: Mustafar.

They were standing on a landing pad. Padme's star skiff was parked nearby, landing struts down and boarding ramp open, the white light of the interior spilling down the walkway and creating a cool, clean contrast to the dark inferno of the planet. The entrance to some great, hulking behemoth of a building yawned at the other end of the landing pad, revealing only shadows within.

For an instant, and only an instant, Ahsoka was confused as she turned her head and took in the scope of her surroundings. Transporting to a person always resulted in their landing disconcertingly close, just at someone's shoulder, just behind their back. Padme was not in sight; all she could see was the fiery landscape and Rex's clean white form beside her, his blue-gold glowing a cool contrast to the inferno.

The feeling of _distress_ was almost an echo, and the warm orange and regal blue of Padme's spirit-light just barely within her vision, at the very bottom of it. Ahsoka looked down, and found her friend and Master's wife laying at her feet in a heap, the long coil of her braid curving thickly around her head, and her hips twisted so that the swollen mound of her belly tilted towards the stone ground. Her aura whirled in agitation, hovering above her rather than around her, indecisive, like a roiling, opalescent mist. Ribbons of light kept it tied to her wrists, her ankles, her heart, the center of her forehead. One such tendril trailed from above, flapping in the wind like the string on a lost kite, unable to connect to her bruised throat.

Padme's aura was separating from her - Padme was dying.

Rex moved with her as she dove for the ground beside Padme, running her free hand over her friend's sweaty, still face. Padme was pale, her lips slightly parted, her breath shallow to the point of near imperceptibility. A bruise was blossoming on her neck – no, two. One purpled splotch was centered on each side of her windpipe, high on her throat as though someone had dug fingers into it, tried to crush it, but the bruises were without the shape of human fingerprints. The words, "_Who would do this?_" nearly slipped out of her lips, but she stopped herself before saying something so thoughtless. There was no battle here, no fight. There was only one man Padme would seek out in these darkening days, and only a Sith used the Force to choke someone unto death.

But Padme. _Padme_. Was it only a few weeks ago, when she and Rex slipped into one of Anakin's dreams, and saw her dying or dead in his arms? Was it only a few days ago when she was telling Anakin of her pregnancy, and he smiled with joy as well as worry? Was it only a little while ago when she would have thought it so impossible that Anakin could ever hurt anyone, much less someone helpless or someone he loved? Was it not Padme that he wished to protect? It was irrational, thoughtless, wild, and she couldn't begin to fathom why.

"She needs medical help," Rex was saying, looking over his shoulder back towards the sleek form of the star skiff. "The ship should have a medical unit. It's a royal vessel, it should be equipped."

The problem was, of course, they had no ability to lift her. Ahsoka's fingertips sank into her cheek, down her jaw, around her chin and then skipped to her throat. Anakin had done this. Anakin had done this to Padme. She barely breathed, showed no response to the faint, ghostly touch.

He tried to kill the love of his life.

Rex's voice was firm when he said her name, wrapped an arm around her shoulders and drew her closer beside him. She resisted his gentle pull, and he shifted closer to her instead, the ridges of his armor pressing against the skin of her arm. "Ahsoka."

She bowed her head, montrals dipping down for a long moment as she squeezed her eyes shut as though to banish the sight of the injured woman before her. Padme lay there, still and unmoving, with her spirit light undulating above her, bands of orange crackling through the expanse of deep blue like fire in the night sky.

It couldn't come to this. Padme couldn't die. This wasn't right. It wasn't fair. Anakin didn't want this. He was out of his mind, the Son had gotten to him, the Chancellor had turned him, it wasn't right, it wasn't _right_! Rex's hand lay heavily on the back of her head, _consoling_ and _worried_ and helpless to help her, to help Padme, to stop the galaxy from flying apart at the seams. They all had such small hands. Hands helpless to do anything but hold on to other hands.

She took her hand from where it was gracing the side of Padme's face, lifted it, let it hover for a moment at the edge of her stormy spirit-light. Then she pushed her fingers in, then her hand, fingers splayed, palm open. Rex's hand was firm in hers. She could hang on. Hold on to one more person. Use whatever gift of magic or Force-wielding the Daughter had given her, and hold on to one more person.

Her hand snatched out, grasped light and air, but snagged on something taking shape and growing solid, fine boned. Slender fingers grasped hers, uncertainly at first, then solidly, a firm grip. The orange fire glittered wildly in its depths of blue for a long moment, but the roiling slowed, condensed, took shape and form, and a wrist formed from the light, then a forearm, an arm, a shoulder, a neck, a face with eyes and a nose and a mouth.

Padme's ghost lay half submerged in her body, but she sat halfway out of herself, one hand firmly in Ahsoka's, though she lay bent, turned to the side with shuddering shoulders. Her spirit-shape flickered occasionally, like a bad reception from a holo, and she shivered once before looking up out of wide, familiar eyes.

When Ahsoka smiled, it was happy because it was the first time Padme had seen her in nearly a year. But it was also sad, because Padme lay dying on the landing pad of a fiery, fateful world, and there were no words of encouragement she could think to offer.

Padme looked up, slowly, focusing first on Ahsoka's face, then the black visor of Rex's helmet, and her aura flickered with _uncertainty_. Her attention returned to Ahsoka, and she parted her lips to speak, but no sound came out for a long moment as she faltered for words. At length she managed, "Am I dead?"

To that, at least, Ahsoka could give good news. Mostly. "No. But you're badly hurt." Padme nodded once, distantly, her eyes blinking rapidly as though she were thinking very quickly, and the hand that was not twined with Ahsoka's lifted absently towards her neck. She stopped just before they touched, hovering disbelievingly. Then her brows drew together and her face crumpled as she drew in on herself, tears spilling out of her eyes to slide down her cheeks.

"He's changed."

A brief squeeze of her hand, and a flash of empathy came from Rex. It hurt too much to try to smile for him, to reassure him that she was alright. Choices. Anakin chose to join the Emperor. Chose the Sith over the Jedi, chose Palpatine over Padme. It made no sense, but the evidence was everywhere, most recently pressed onto Padme's neck, hard enough to bruise. "I know."

Padme's fingers fell from her throat, and she looked narrowly past Ahsoka and Rex to observe the shape of her star skiff for a moment, wearily. She shivered once. "Obi-Wan followed me. Stowed away inside. I didn't know." She paused, her gaze dropping to where her hand clasped Ahsoka's. "They're fighting now. They must be."

Master Skywalker and Master Kenobi. Obi-Wan was Anakin's Master. His older brother, much as Anakin was hers. If there was anyone who understood this, who could sympathize and understand, it would be him. If there was anyone still alive capable of straightening Anakin out, it was him. Maybe it was arrogant of her to once think all she needed to do was talk to Anakin. To explain things clearly. She was his Padawan, but Obi-Wan was his Master, and Padme was his wife, and he chose the Emperor over both of them. Obi-Wan wouldn't kill Anakin. He couldn't.

Ahsoka looked at Padme, at her stunned, pained face and bruised throat. Obi-Wan couldn't kill Anakin, but Anakin could kill Obi-Wan.

The hand in hers tightened, Padme's grip different from Rex's. It was strong too, but slender and tremulous, as though she wasn't certain how to hold on. Her eyes were distant as she stared beyond Ahsoka, beyond Rex, and out towards the streams of fire and the darkness of the stone cliffs. "I was going to go to Naboo. To prepare the nursery. He was so happy. We were afraid, but happy. Can someone capable of so much love completely turn to darkness?" She blinked once, her eyes gaining a new focus as she turned her head."Ahsoka?"

Could someone capable of so much love, turn to so much darkness? She wanted to believe not. Wanted to believe there was still good in him. There was so much good in him. These past few days seemed to erase it, wipe the slate clean, give him a new start, but not in a way a new beginning should be.

But Padme's question seemed to be as much rhetorical as it was addressed to Ahsoka, and she continued on unanswered, gaze lowering thoughtfully to their joined hands. "No. No. There's still good in him. Somewhere. There must be." Her spirit-light flickered, crackled, its whirl slowing and then rushing, unable to stabilize from Padme's _consternation_ and _distress_. Her eyes closed, and she slumped forward heavily, clutching Ahsoka's hand tightly. "I can't do anything…not like this. Help him. Please. Somehow."

There were so many times, these past few months, when Ahsoka felt helpless. Helpless or useless. Perhaps this time was the worst, knowing that so much of the damage was done, and could not be undone. The Jedi Order was dead, from the oldest Masters to the youngest Initiates. What hope could she offer Padme? What could she do to save Anakin now?

Ahsoka smiled, trying to appear encouraging, but the gesture was weary and thin. "Rest. You'll need your strength."

When Padme met her gaze once again, she returned the exhausted smile. Her shoulders sagged, and she seemed to grow heavy, her spirit-form slouching down towards her physical body, still spilled across the ground of the landing deck. "Not for too much longer. I'm so tired, Ahsoka. So tired. The man I love is changed. The Republic I love is dead, and the people cheered when it died. What do you do, when evil is believed to be good? I'm so tired."

Her eyes closed, and she listed to the side. Ahsoka shifted herself, letting Padme lean against her and wishing there was something more that she could do. Drained, Padme's rich blues and fire oranges seemed to drain of their luster, their sheen replaced by dullness even as the colors began to sink slowly back down into her body, her spirit slowly slipping back into its home. On the back of Ahsoka's lek, Rex's hand tensed, then slipped down an inch in a cautious caress. His thumb traced a small, consoling arc, and she cast him a look, wishing she could see his face, currently hidden by the black matte of his helmet's visor. His sky and sun colored aura was slipping across hers, encircling her wrist, spiraling around her arm and encircling her shoulders, and there was a breath of _compassion_ in it.

The clatter of metal on metal drew their attention, and the sound of clinking footsteps was accompanied by the stressed, clipped tones of Threepio. "Oh dear, oh dear!" He bustled down the plank of the star skiff as quickly as his stiff limbs could move him, round yellow eyes glowing bright in the darkness. "Oh dear, Mistress Padme!"

Rex's hand tightened in Ahsoka's, drawing her attention. "The droid will get her inside."

_Help him_. Padme wanted her to help Anakin. Padme needed far more help than what the protocol droid could give, even with the medical pod that should be on the ship. She needed medical droids and healers. Ahsoka cast a look down at the swollen curve of her belly. She needed an obstetrician, and a good one. The light around her abdomen was swirling strangely, spiraling like a whirlpool of cerulean and copper, agitated and crackling where the two colors slid across each other.

Slowly, Ahsoka slipped her hand from Padme's, her aurora colors detaching themselves from where they'd twined into Padme's tones of water and flame. "Rest, Padme. You'll be alright."

The smile she received in exchange for her words was filled only with _sadness_, and Padme uncurled her fingers from around Ahsoka's, letting herself sink back into her body the rest of the way. Her spirit-shape diffused, softening until she was nothing more than a blur of dim light. Then she was in her body, and her glow again suffused across her skin rather than above it. She stirred slightly, emitting a small groan just as Threepio reached her side, still muttering, "Oh dear," to himself.

What could she do? The hand that held Padme's was empty now, but her right hand was filled with Rex's. One hand holding another. It was such a small gesture, holding hands, but it meant so much. Anakin's hand wasn't in hers, but she wasn't ready to let go of him. Not yet. Not when she wanted so much to believe Padme's words about there still being some good left in him.

Ahsoka lowered her head for a long moment, and when she lifted it again, she said, "Master Skywalker will be with Master Kenobi. Let's find him."

The sense of soft _sympathy_ coming from Rex hardened into something _determined_ instead, and the light around him intensified, brightening as it drew close to him like the corona around a star. His hand was firm around hers.

She smiled at him. It was sad and slow, but warm, because of that hand holding hers. There was no time now to hold him, wrap her arms around his neck and hang on to him, to share some measure of comfort, but here at the end of all things, she wasn't alone, and felt so much stronger for it.

As Threepio began to reach for Padme, the two ghosts disappeared.

* * *

><p>Another chapter that got away from me. Splitting it in two, because the next scene got long, and really should stand on its own anyway.<p>

~Queen


	32. What Lives After

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex are Dead_

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><p>"<em>The evil that men do lives after them;<br>The good is oft interred with their bones."_

_-Julius Caesar, Shakespeare_

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><p>Chapter 31. What Lives After<p>

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><p>The inferno immolated the very air.<p>

Bodies and scorched metal swept through her incorporeal body, fast and disconcerting, and Ahsoka gasped at the sensation. Lava flowed underfoot, heat swimming up from the surface of the river of fire and setting the world into a shimmering fog. A single, small floating platform was sweeping swiftly downriver, its repulsors glowing pale blue with effort as they struggled to compensate for their proximity to the surfacing magma floe and the speed at which the platform was moving.

Two men stood atop the platform, bodies indistinct from the shadowed, black cliffs and the hellish light of the flowing inferno beneath them. They were dark blurs encased in auras, but only one was bright; the familiar seaside hues of Master Kenobi were fluxing rapidly around him, bright blues leaping around gleaming greens, striking back over and over again against the pitch black miasma that encompassed Anakin Skywalker like a shroud and sought to engulf his opponent's light. The two beams of blue light that spun between them seemed mismatched and out of place, too calm and too cool in color, too clear. But they battled with a violence that befitted this place, each battering at the other, close and desperate.

Rex was already pulling her along, and they glided mere inches above the river of fire, pockmarked with the bits of cooler basalt that floated idly on the surface. "They're pulling too far ahead."

The two lightsabers locked in a cross once again, and Ahsoka propelled herself forward, up alongside Rex, and with an urgency born of desperation, she increased their pace as the platform swept around a bend in the lava river, and close to a bank of black sand.

Then Master Kenobi leapt. His cloak of blue-green spirit-light trailed after him, spinning brightly through the air as he arced through it, landing on the black sand and firm ground.

Master Kenobi and Master Skywalker were always so well matched. They knew each other's techniques and tendencies, knew each other's personalities and strengths. Any battle between them would be bitter; they knew each other too well, and this battle between light and dark was more than a battle of right against wrong, of light against dark. It was a battle of wills, of a feeling of betrayal. They were never meant to fight each other, these two who accomplished so much side by side.

Ahsoka and Rex were perhaps the two most qualified people in the galaxy to know that the instant Master Kenobi landed on his feet, the battle was won. For all his strength, all his tenacity and courage and skill, Master Skywalker was matched in each quality by Master Kenobi, and that small, ever so slight advantage of a meter of space was enough. On the flying platform, they were balanced, the scales tipping one way and then the other by the moment; here, Obi-Wan had risen above, and Anakin was trapped below.

It was not in Anakin to retreat. If Ahsoka was there, or Rex was there, or if he and Obi-Wan were facing a common enemy, one of them would have warned him, restrained him, urged patience and another approach. But Anakin by himself was a man of immediacy and directness, and the black cloud of his aura was spilling over the edges of the platform and lunging murderously for Obi-Wan. His mind was set. He would not stop.

He was going to leap.

Even after such a battle, even after seeing everything Anakin had done, Master Kenobi gave that very warning. "It's over, Anakin! I have the high ground!"

The words were audible over the roar of the volcanoes and the rushing of the lava. The feet of the two ghosts crested the edge of the dark sand just as Anakin returned with a yell, "You underestimate my power!"

A surge of _arrogance_ clogged the air as thickly as the heat, stifling Ahsoka's half-hearted, wordless cry to stop. There was no stopping now. There was no white in Anakin's spirit-light, only the black. The clear, polished obsidian quality was nothing but a coal colored miasma that roiled in endless _rage_.

Rex was slowing for some reason. She pulled forward, and he pulled back, drawing her up short as Anakin finally leapt, his lightsaber the only bit of brightness around him, and it sliced through the air cleanly while his aura streamed behind him like a living thing.

She had no throat, but she had the memory of one, and it stung from sudden screaming. _Pain_ flooded the world, pure and unadulterated, and a garbled scream accompanied it as Anakin Skywalker fell into the ash and black sand, body shredded from the deft, _mou kei_ strikes of his friend.

Her feet lifted from the ground as Rex got an arm around her waist and hauled her back, clutching her to his chest but letting her look, letting her see what must be her Master's final moments. Ahsoka struggled against his arms for a moment, and as Anakin screamed again, she sagged. There was no help for him. There was nothing she could do for him. Not on Padme's behalf, not on her own. The black miasma around him condensed, roiled, exploded outward, grappling towards Obi-Wan in some mad attempt to continue the fight.

"You were the Chosen One!" Master Kenobi cried, and Ahsoka felt something inside her chest break. "It was said you would destroy the Sith, not join them!"

Rex was pulling her tight against him, so hard it hurt, but she did not feel the pain. His helmet was pressing into the side of her montral, and his right hand was bound up in hers, tight against her chest at the point that felt like it was breaking.

"Bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!"

The _mourning_ was not only her own. It pressed against her back, emanating from Rex. It swirled outward from the glimmering form of Master Kenobi, looking down the slope of the beach and watching as Anakin reached outward, silt slipping through his fingers as he clawed at the ground, trying to move forward.

The _pain_ that rolled out from Anakin was suddenly cut by a denser, sharper feeling. "_I hate you!_"

Obi-Wan's words were soft. "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you."

The gentle admonition was a blow. _Friendship_ and _love_ struck hard against the _hate_ enveloping the man lying on the ground, screaming, dying.

Ahsoka curled forward, keening, and Rex sank down to the ground with her. "I'm sorry," he murmured, and Ahsoka closed her eyes, let her lekku dangle idly in the air as her neck bent.

Too late. Always too late, or not quite enough. Another scream resounded through the air as fresh fire caught. Anakin's broken body lay too close to the lava; the heat was enough to catch the tattered remnants of his clothing on fire, to reach into his skin with fingers of flame and caress his flesh even while it pulled it apart, melted it.

It was dizzying, the mix of _pain_, _suffering_, _rage_, _loss, despair, desperation, disappointment, sorrow, love, hate_. It was swallowed by the burgeoning darkness, consumed in order to feed it. And so it grew.

Anakin's lightsaber, extinguished, lay gleaming on the sand. Master Kenobi picked it up. His spirit-light lay close to his sweaty skin, and he looked heavily towards Anakin.

Anakin could kill Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan could not kill Anakin.

Perhaps it was a moment of weakness. Anakin was broken, burning, and there was almost nothing left. It would be a kindness to let him die, a relief from his pain. Ahsoka knew there was no pain in death. Anakin would have some measure of peace. _Mou kei_ was not meant to leave survivors. Obi-Wan wanted to finish the duel, to end the threat of the Sith sprawled out before him, but could not, because it was Anakin. Dying, disarmed, now-helpless Anakin.

Obi-Wan turned away, eyes closed for a long moment as he took one step up the embankment, then another, faltering slightly, pausing once, then stepping forward again as another scream tore through the roar of the fire. Master Kenobi flinched, but progressed, his sea colored halo clinging flat and tight against him, dull with hurt. And then he passed by a crag of stone, and around it, and was gone.

Two ghosts sat on a black beach and watched a dying man.

Anakin's screams lingered in the air, sharp, clear and human against the draconic, endless roar of the lava falls and churning fire rapids, each kicking splatters of orange flame up towards the sky. His mechanical hand grasped at the silt, fingers sinking into the sand, then dragging him forward an inch. He howled again as grit scraped across his burned flesh, digging into the tender, peeling skin. The shroud of his aura writhed, snaking across the ground in tendrils, as though seeking some source of relief or perhaps some new enemy to attack, even as it ballooned upward, as though caught on an updraft of wind.

In all the years she knew him, Ahsoka had felt many things regarding her Master. Respect, awe, exasperation, irritation, affection. Pity was never among them, until now. Perhaps she should be angrier; he had chosen the Dark Side, destroyed everything she held dear, from the Republic and the Jedi to friends like Master Kenobi and Padme.

Another scream cut through the air, and the struggling, limbless shape of her Master grew still.

He didn't want a Padawan. Not at first. She wouldn't have made it as Obi-Wan's Padawan – but she could make it as his. And she had, because he'd given her that chance. Skyguy. Anakin. Master Skywalker.

Rex was still holding her firmly, his arms hugging her close against him, his hand clasping hers as he cradled her. But he was no longer restraining her and pulling her back, keeping her away. The embrace was now one of comfort rather than protection, and some of that comfort was for himself as well. She could feel his _grief_ blending with his _disbelief_, and he leaned against her even as he tried to lend her some support. Her aurora shades of azure and viridian were twined with his brighter blues and gleaming golds. Rex had been with Anakin from the very beginning; even before she made it on the scene. There were few men that Rex respected more. He hurt in the same way she did, knowing that a good man could commit such atrocities, could turn his back on all the trust and friendship they'd built. All of it was destroyed now, and for what?

When she slipped one hand out from his embrace, he shifted slightly, head tilting in a way that indicated that through his helmet, he was looking at her carefully. Ahsoka placed a hand on the side of his helmet, much the way she would have placed a hand on his cheek. His armor was still shiny, white, and her sienna fingers seemed colorful against its plainness. The dark greens and blues of her spirit-light caressed his, pained but steadying. "We can't leave him like this," she said, voice sounding rough and thin. It broke a little on the last word. The tilt of Rex's head changed angles again, this time towards the broken body lying on the sand. He tensed, and she could feel his wary _reluctance_. "If given a choice, would you want to die alone?"

The grip on her hand changed. Though it did not move away from where it pressed against her chest, it loosened for a moment, and Rex's gauntleted fingers slipped between hers. White plastoid wove between callused ochre fingers. Rex's hand was larger than hers, broader, and made more so by the heaviness of his gauntlets. She'd stopped for him when he fell, wouldn't let him go, and he was glad. When he replied, his words were of caution. "Be careful. That cloud might try to grab ahold of you. Don't let it."

Master Skywalker's aura was lifting, bubbling upward, trying to peel away from him, but for every curl of smoke that tried to escape, more still were sucked down, tight against his body, as though he were staying alive out of sheer force of will. The screams had turned into long, low moans, cut off abruptly by gasps.

Ahsoka nodded once at Rex, and they stood, edging closer to the man they had for so long called friend. When they knelt again, the light around them fluctuated, paled, grew silvery-blue as they passed into visibility. Hazy white light seemed to gather around them, brightening the beach with a light that was cleaner than the murky oranges of the liquid brimstone and basalt, and chased away the shadows that clung to the looming cliffs of igneous stone. Their knees made no impression on the soft, heated sand. Black smoke from Anakin's aura writhed outward, snaking across the ground, but it slipped off the edges of their luminosity with a sizzle and a hiss.

Her hand tightened within Rex's, and she tried not to feel ill upon looking into Anakin's face. She'd seen him sweat stained, dirty, injured and exhausted before, but this time, his eyes were not blue, but concentric rings of feverish red and sickly yellow, the black pupils large and dilated. She wasn't sure how to begin, so she simply said, "Hello, Master."

He convulsed once, shuddering as he threw his head back a few more inches. The charred remnants of curls from his shaggy hair clung to his face by means of the sweat that streamed down his face. For a moment, she wasn't sure if he could see her, so unfocused were his eyes and so erratic his movements. He hissed through his teeth in a labored breath. "…soka." He wheezed once, body heaving as he twisted, mechanical hand grasping freshly at the sand before him. "Rex." Another hard breath, and he labored forward another inch closer. The machine hand lifted up a few inches, splayed fingers stretching towards her. Another word came from his cracked and bleeding lips, unsteady and strained. "Help."

Dying. They had no medical abilities, no healers. Master Kenobi was gone, Padme too hurt to come to his rescue. Even if they could give him the attention he so desperately needed, Anakin would never be the same. No legs, no arms, his body burnt beyond recognition. Even if he did miraculously survive, he'd be more machine than man. His aura, blackened and clouded as it was, seemed to realize this, and it struggled to separate, to dissipate, to join the Force and to rest.

She had two hands. Padme was unconscious, but Anakin was awake. Padme still stood a chance, with Threepio and Master Kenobi to look after her. Anakin had only a pair of ghosts, and the relief they could offer. It would be a kindness. A dangerous kindness, but a kindness.

Ahsoka's hand was small and luminous, and it shone against the black of Anakin's spirit. She offered it, palm up. "Take my hand, Master. It will be alright."

She barely heard the sharp intake of breath from Rex, barely felt him tense beside her. Anakin stared at her a long moment, as she tried to smile for him, to let him know it would be alright. That it was like it used to be. That she was Snips and he was Skyguy, and he just needed her to watch his back when he got carried away on some crazy mission. He could take her hand, and maybe things could be that way again. They could try to go back to Mortis. Try to find Daughter. Maybe someone who was everything opposite to the Darkness would be able to help him. Wash away the Dark and bring back the Light, the way it was supposed to be.

Anakin did not seem to breathe. His movements stilled, and the all encompassing pain that emanated from him grew to nothingness.

"You're trying to kill me too." The words were harsh, his breath pushed out of smoke-clogged lungs and spoken through a burned throat. His voice rose in growing panic, the black cloud around him suddenly shrinking closer, surrounding him with renewed vigor. "Turned against me. You've all turned against me!" He reached out, but not for her, and his hand grasped sand and he pulled himself up, arching his back so that she could see his bloodied, dirty face with its red-yellow eyes. "I hate you! _I hate you!_"

Ahsoka barely saw the miasma of black that lunged for her, but Rex did, and she felt him slam into her, saw a blur of blue-gold that filled her world while everything shifted, her point of view changing as Rex catapulted them further up the beach, away from Anakin and his murderous, exhausted aura.

A dozen meters away, they sat on a protrusion of piceous rock. Rex was holding her, and she was just able to peer over his shoulder to see Master Skywalker lying on the sand, screaming one last time before he collapsed again, shuddering until he grew still. The darkness around him clung, tight and close but revealing that he was very much alive, for all his pain and injuries.

"He's not the General anymore." Ahsoka turned her head to see Rex, his head bent low and his attention on the ground. "That's not the General. I don't know who it is, but that's not him." One of Rex's hands was lying flat against the rock, and his fingers bent as he tightened his fingers. After a moment, his hand became a fist, resting heavily on the stone.

Master Skywalker was alive, but dead.

The humming sound of a starship caused her to lift her head towards the grey sky. For a moment, she hoped Master Kenobi had returned. That Padme had woken up, convinced him to come back, to place Anakin in the ship's medical pod. That somehow, everything could still be undone.

But even before she saw the ship that rose over the black cliffs, she knew it was not so. Someone was coming, but it was not Obi-Wan, or Padme. Master Kenobi would not have used _mou kei_ on someone who he believed could be saved.

Ahsoka sat on the stone, and held onto Rex, and kept vigil. Master Skywalker had betrayed, alienated, and tried to kill his true friends. There was only one person left with any investment left in him, and that was the person responsible for this entire tragedy.

She did not need to keep her vigil long; the Chancellor – no, the _Emperor_ – appeared against the cliffs a short few minutes later, his scarlet and sulfur colored aura wreathing him expansively, the colors truly befitting Mustafar. He reeked of _satisfaction_, and Ahsoka struggled not to feel ill. She held tighter to Rex, still kneeling beside her with his back to the river of fire and the ruin of his former General.

Two clone troopers were with him. "That's Thire," Ahsoka observed distantly, her voice faint, but the words important enough to make Rex turn and watch as the troopers turned and began to run back towards the ship, and the Emperor descended down onto the rough black sand, his cloak billowing around him. His hands were white, curled and curving, just outside of his long sleeves.

He bent, and reached out, one white hand resting atop Anakin's scorched forehead, as though in some benediction or gesture of care. There was no tenderness, though. There couldn't be. Not from a man who would sacrifice so many…and for what? A throne? A bit of revenge?

Ahsoka pulled herself tighter against Rex, not so much for comfort now but instead for strength. Her arms ached from the effort of not letting go, of wanting to keep someone with her, of holding off the _loneliness_ and the _loss_. When Rex lifted a hand and stroked one of her lekku, it was awkward, almost fumbling, and she could feel his hand, always so steady, tremble once as it touched her.

The Emperor lifted his head. He did not turn it back, towards where Thire went, and where his ship waited. Instead, he looked around, out over the wide river of lava and the great erupting volcanoes, then across the black sands and up the stygian cliffs. His hood was drawn low over his face, his eyes peering out in red and yellow, burning like heated coals. He did not look at them. Not directly. His gaze was off center, focused too far on the distance.

A cruel smile spread on his thin lips. "He's mine, now."

The air rippled with heat, and the bloodied, burned form of Anakin Skywalker moaned, as though in consent.

Ahsoka turned away, and wept.

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><p>Thoughts?<p>

~Queen


	33. Where it Begins

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>"<em>If there be light, then there is darkness.<em>

_If cold, heat; if height, depth; if solid, fluid; if hard, soft; if rough, smooth._

_If calm, tempest; if prosperity, adversity._

_If life, death."_

_-Pythagoras_

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><p>Chapter 32. Where it Begins<p>

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><p>She placed a hand on the glass.<p>

Her fingers were the same sienna hue as always, encased in the rich, shifting shades of an aurora; the cooler tones of her green-blue spirit-light radiated out from her skin until they faded and blended into the stark white light of the operating room. The glass was slightly warm from those bright lights, shining down with such clarity on the prone form of Padme Amidala. A midwife droid was hovering nearby, crooning words of comfort to Padme as it prepared her for delivery.

Ahsoka cast a brief look further down the narrow waiting room. Master Kenobi, Master Yoda, and Senator Organa watched, waited, worried. Master Kenobi would try to sit on one of the stools, only to stand and pace the length of the room, his aura flickering wildly in consternation until he breathed deeply, urged himself to calm. Master Yoda sat perched on a stool, expression grim, eyes watchful, aura clinging close as though to insulate him from the agitation of the other two men. Senator Organa, sitting beside him, watched his friend and fellow senator sadly, his purple and grey spirit-light tremulous and tense.

When Padme cried out for the first time, Master Kenobi turned and silently left the waiting area, emerging a moment later in the delivery room and taking up a place at Padme's side.

It wasn't right. Anakin should be here, not Obi-Wan. But Anakin was gone, and Padme's spirit-light was again bubbling up away from her body, the firelit sapphire colors of it vague and transparent, movements slow. She twisted, spine arching upward as she was racked with a contraction; the midwife droid cooed encouragingly, calm only as a droid could be in such a moment. Padme cried out, and Obi-Wan gripped her hand, murmuring support.

Ahsoka closed her eyes as Padme screamed again, her cry battering the air as she writhed, tears beginning to stream down her face. Her aura swelled upward, cresting, until it seemed to burst and sink back down, only to rise again as she was struck with another contraction.

From beside her, Rex said, roughly, "She deserves better than this."

"The good who live in times of great evil always do."

The voice that replied to him was not Ahsoka's, and the two ghosts turned at the sound. It was low, somber, echoing, gentle, and accompanied by a figure emerging from a vertical pool of white light. The Daughter coalesced slowly, her pond green eyes peering out of the radiance of her spirit-light first, followed by her nose, cheeks, chin, neck, shoulders, body. The more solid she became, the more light flooded the room, flowing from her like a white river and pooling until every shadow seemed to disappear from every corner. The stark, medical light of the operating room and the waiting area softened, warmed, grew gentle and welcoming, and the cry of pain that was once again sounding from Padme's throat seemed to soften somewhat, catch and turn to a gasp and a sigh rather than a scream, as though the Daughter's very presence offered some source of comfort or renewed strength.

The Daughter bowed her head in greeting, aquamarine hair idling slowly behind her, floating on some unfelt current of wind. She stepped forward, stood in line at the glass, and looked inside, sharing the vigil of both the living and the dead.

Ahsoka looked at her, at her perfect, bright, peerless profile, and felt a sting from wishful thinking. The Son was responsible for all this, somehow: the rise of the Sith and the Dark Side. Where was the Daughter? Why didn't she do anything? Ahsoka pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to say something rude or bitter, but not quite managing to resist saying nothing at all. "Master Skywalker has turned to the Dark Side. He's joined the Sith."

Daughter did not look at her, her gaze unwavering on the form of Padme on the other side of the glass. Ahsoka felt Rex squeeze her hand, and a brief flash of _wariness_ from him, a warning to tread carefully. Ahsoka frowned, calmed herself a little, squeezed back as a sign of reassurance. She wasn't angry with the Daughter; not really. The fault lay with the Son, with Anakin, not with her. But it was hard not to wonder why, if there was such a battle between Dark and Light happening in the galaxy, she was so long absent.

A slow _sadness_ seemed to flow out from the Daughter, though her appearance did not change. "I know," she said quietly, voice reverberating against the air and ringing gently in the hollows of her montrals. "There has always been a strong darkness in him. As much as there was a strong light. It is why he is the Chosen One. He is destined to choose."

Her words echoed the Son's, that Anakin had made a choice in falling to the Dark Side, in choosing the Emperor over all reason and right. But the Son also claimed he'd had a hand in it. That he'd done something to make it all come toppling down. She shivered at the thought of Mortis, of some infection of Darkness that drove her to fighting her friends, of the hazy memories she could grasp, and the blank spaces she could not. Anakin was tempted somehow, confused and manipulated. It wasn't his fault. Not entirely. It couldn't be. He was so much better than this. "The Son did something. He influenced Anakin somehow, did something to him. Couldn't you undo it? Can't you make it right?"

"No."

The answer was so plain it was almost startling. "But you saved me. Can't you do the same for Master Skywalker? If he's the Chosen One, then shouldn't you do something to help him choose right?"

This time, the Daughter turned away from the scene unfolding on the other side of the glass to look at her. Ahsoka tilted her head back, met the Daughter's weary green eyes with her own determined blue. Ahsoka was not the first to look away, but the tired sigh of the Daughter made her feel a bit like a youngling who asked a teacher an impertinent question, and then did not like the answer. The Daughter straightened, paused, seemed to think for a long moment as she chose her words, looking over the two ghosts. Her eyes moved over them both, taking them in, and the corners of her lips curved upward ever so slightly, as though in approval or acceptance. When she spoke, her words were measured, steady, and in the stereophonic tone that made her speech sound so wise.

"Manipulation is the way of the Dark Side. Trust is the way of the Light. Had my brother infected Skywalker against his will as he did you on Mortis, that I could undo." She paused again, then looked out over the birthing scene as Padme gasped again, twisting and clutching Master Kenobi's hand the way she should have been clasping Master Skywalker's. "But it was your Master's choice to act as he did. I will not manipulate him as my brother did, even if I believe my purposes are right. If he wishes to change, that change must come from within himself, not from outside. Not from me." Her gaze was sharp and pointed when she returned it to Ahsoka. "Or from you."

There was a difference, subtle as it was, between _whispering_ a suggestion to someone and performing a mind trick on them, between offering an idea and compelling someone to do something. On Mortis, the Son bit her, forced her to become something she was not; a mind trick, a corruption of her free will. Here, it seemed that all the Son did was offer a suggestion. An idea. And Anakin had embraced it of his own will. To compel him to change his mind would make Daughter, Rex, or herself complicit in the insidious, cold ways of the Dark.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up to see Rex edge closer to her. His arm brushed hers, his clean, blue striped white armor cool against her bare skin. His eyes, honey-brown, were heavy, and his spirit-light gleamed brighter where it tangled into hers, full of _comfort_ and _understanding_. "I know you still want to save him," Rex said quietly. His expression grew uncertain. "Sometimes, though, a man gets left behind, no matter how much you want to go back. Sometimes, you can't save everyone. So you save what you can." His attention slid towards Padme, towards Master Kenobi. Their luminosities were strange, almost struggling with each other; Master Kenobi's lambent sea colors appeared to be grappling with Padme's fire-and-water, as though they could keep her spirit with her body through sheer force of will. His illumination seemed more lustrous than usual, thrown against the paling colors of Padme. She writhed, crying out again as another contraction rippled across her belly. The midwife droid crooned, encouraging, her scoop-shaped hands lowering and disappearing into the biobed's dome and towards the birth canal.

Ahsoka's shoulders rounded and her head lowered, the tips of her lekku wavering. She didn't want to accept that Anakin wasn't coming back; the Daughter's suggestion that he could again change seemed a distant and futile thing. She pressed her cheek against Rex's chest, taking some solace from his presence, from his hand in hers.

The feeling of _jealousy_ was subtle, but so out of place it was hard not to notice it. Ahsoka lifted her head and scouted out the source. It was not Master Yoda, sitting so thoughtful and somber on his seat. It was not Senator Organa, silently sending thoughts of _encouragement_ in Padme's direction. It was not Master Kenobi, so intent on providing the support Anakin should have, and it was not Padme, too encompassed by her own pain to see much beyond herself.

It was Daughter. Ahsoka's white brows drew together, and she looked at the radiant woman with a bit of puzzlement. "Are you alright?" she asked. Rex looked at her for a moment, puzzled at the question, then turned towards the Daughter as well, waiting to hear why Ahsoka would ask such a question.

The white light around Daughter flickered slightly, almost an expression of _embarrassment_. She smiled faintly, but the sad amusement seemed to be directed more towards herself than anyone else.

Again, her words were thoughtful, measured. "You, and those like you, have choices. I am the Light. I am good because it is my nature; I have no ability to act otherwise. My brother and I have no balance within us. No choice to act differently, to forge our own paths as you do, for good or ill." The vague smile playing about her lips spread slightly, took on strength and warmth. "That is the Light side of democracy; for all its inherent chaos, it contains the opportunity to choose wisely as well as wrong. It is a precious thing mortals have. Choice and will."

A pitched cry sounded in the air, and Padme shuddered again, her spirit-light twisting above her as she wept. The midwife droid hovered low on its repulsors at the end of the biobed, scooped hands reaching forward, then drawing back. "Ooh," it sighed, setting the shape of a wet, bloody baby onto the warming tray affixed to its body. A delicate scalpel emerged from its abdomen, cutting the umbilical cord just as the child's chest expanded and his lungs filled with air. And with that intaken breath came a brightening, a luminosity, that reached up and illuminated the grey metal face of the midwife droid. When the little boy expelled that breath with a startled squall, it intensified, whirling in one color after another, as though uncertain as to which to settle on. White, grey, blue, purple, green; they all skittered about him as the midwife wrapped a soft beige blanket around his squirming body, and gently handed him to Master Kenobi. "Ee-see-tah, oy-doh," the midwife sighed, and the Jedi Master turned and stooped low so that Padme could see her child.

Her aura stilled for a long moment, idling, relaxing. "Luke," she breathed unevenly, and a small smile formed on Master Kenobi's face at the name. Luke's luminosity danced and spun, color after cool color flailing outward in darts and beams, until it latched onto the bit of light that was nearest: Master Kenobi's. The fluctuations of his spirit-light slowed though they did not settle, and he burbled, seemingly content now that he'd discovered the aura of another.

"Ooh baa, ooh baa," the midwife sang, and Padme, watching her son curiously, was wracked with another spasm. She clutched at the sides of the beeping biobed, Master Kenobi's hands occupied with the baby in his arms. Padme's back arched, and she screamed again, as the midwife droid lowered and reached forward with its broad, scooped hands. A moment later, the droid eased back, and there was a second baby now laying on its warming tray as it crooned comfortingly, "Ooh baa." Again a scalpel emerged from its abdomen, this one fresh and clean, and it sliced through the white cord that bound the baby to her mother. This one thrust tiny fists and feet wildly into the air when she announced her arrival in the world, and a burst of color gleamed up into the droid's grey face. Silver, orange, pink, red, gold; they caressed the midwife's face warmly, seeking out some other soul nearby as they pinwheeled around her, until the rays of her spirit-light extended far enough to grasp the fading blue-orange of her mother.

"Ee-see-tah, oy-dah," the midwife announced, gliding closer to Padme as it wrapped the little girl in another quilted blanket. Master Kenobi edged aside as it tipped the child carefully, leaning so that Padme could look at the second bloodied, glowing baby.

"It's a girl," Obi-Wan told Padme, now struggling to breathe.

"Leia," she rasped, and some tension seemed to flow out of her, and her body eased as her head lolled to one side.

"So many possibilities," Daughter murmured into that quiet moment, as everyone, living or dead, watched as the two babies glowed a kaleidoscope of colors, never settling on one for more than a moment. Ahsoka looked down at her two tones, the variegated viridian and cobalt that flowed into azure and gold where her hand met Rex's, the four colors in a double helix around each other, white at the seams where they joined. Had she once had such a world of possibilities? Had Rex? Had they all?

Padme gasped again, and Ahsoka turned her attention away from her speculations and back to her fading friend. The white medical gown Padme wore was drenched with sweat, and the curls of her dark hair were matted to her damp skin. Her brown eyes were glazed, gleaming under the white lights of the delivery room. "Obi-Wan," she panted, trying to focus on him, still cradling her firstborn. Her words, though, were not of Luke, or of Leia, but of Anakin. "There is good in him," she breathed unevenly, exhausted body struggling while the blue-orange of her spirit light softened, began to take on a fresh glittering, deep in her aura's fading hues. Her spirit began to slip upward, evading the pull of Master Kenobi's luminosity, disconnecting from the tentative touch of Leia's curious light. "I know," she breathed, and the glimmering of light that was left to her separated, lifted, dissipated, with the final words, "I know there's still…."

And then she lay silent.

Ahsoka had no tears to weep, but she closed her eyes and turned towards Rex, and felt an arm settle around her and draw her in. A hand caressed the lek that ran down her back, and a chin was tucked in the valley between her montrals, and there was a heavy kind of _sympathy_ from the man holding her. He said nothing to console her, merely held her as she held him, and let her grieve once more.

Into the silence, a baby began to cry, then another, and the midwife droid began to sing softly to the children, who did not know why there was suddenly so much sorrow all around them, only that there was. Ahsoka turned her head to look into the delivery room, at the midwife crooning to Leia, at Master Kenobi with his arms full of Luke and seeming not to know quite what to do next. The silence was unsettling, punctured as it was by the sounds of new life crying out for food and comfort.

"It feels so dark," Ahsoka said softly, looking at Padme's body, lying so colorlessly on the operating table, shrouded in a white medical gown and without luminosity. Then a burble of _hunger_ so desperate filled the room her attention was drawn towards Luke, squirming in Master Kenobi's arms and twisting towards his chest, apparently under the mistaken impression he would find some food there. Ahsoka snorted a small giggle at the expression of utter dismay on Master Kenobi's face, and then the somewhat frantic look towards the midwife droid, who had inserted a tube into Leia's mouth from her nutrient reservoirs, and appeared to be serenely feeding her a drip of blue milk. Leia was curling happily up around the nipple on the end of the tube, sucking noisily as she reclined on the midwife's cushioned warming tray. A wry, somewhat sad smile worked its way across Ahsoka's mouth at the sight. Two babies, doing baby-like things, amid all the death and destruction. The juxtaposition seemed too strange.

The Daughter spoke, her voice rich and warm, _sad_ but _hopeful_ too. "This is the darkest moment." She turned her head, teal hair fluttering behind her as the white radiance surrounding her seemed to soften and gain warmth. "And so it is also the moment that is the turning of the tide, the moment in which light again begins to slowly grow." She lifted a hand and placed it on the glass between herself and the delivery room. Around each of the two children, their spirit-light seemed to pulse, intensify, deepen as though her words were benediction, though they still flitted through color after color, as though trying each on and unable to decide which shade was quite right. The Daughter smiled. "The longest night gives birth to brighter days."

Master Kenobi was laying Luke down beside his sister, and the midwife was tucking the end of a tube into his open mouth so that he could eat. The two babies, side by side, wriggled, bare feet kicking up into the air as their spirit-lights expanded, grew, and seemed to explore, reaching out into the air and seeking others as they filled their bellies.

Everyone had spirit-light, Force-sensitive or not, and Ahsoka could already sense the inquisitive, fumbling brushes of two hungry little minds flitting around, pausing, then darting off to explore some other new bright feeling or person. "They're strong in the Force, aren't they?" she asked, tilting her head up towards Daughter. "Both of them."

Daughter nodded, her smile growing serious. "Yes."

Even if Daughter was right, and there was some change for the better happening even now, it was so dark. It would take so long for dawn to come, for some new hope to infuse the galaxy and drive the darkness back. Rex spoke then, evaluating the scene before them with a critical eye. "They'll be persecuted. Forced to hide. They're criminals according the Chancellor's new order."

They were minutes old and already in danger. Ahsoka looked towards Senator Organa and Master Yoda, moving towards the door. They slipped outside the waiting room, and a moment later, emerged into the delivery room. Senator Organa paused a long moment, looking at the babies as they fed, before going to Padme's side and slowly picking up her still-warm hand. He squeezed it once, gently, then set it down, placing it delicately onto her chest. He repeated the action with her other hand, folding them over each other so that Padme had some semblance of peace about her as she lay so still.

Padme and Senator Organa were friends. Allies in the Senate. They, along with Mon Mothma, would have been the most likely candidates to lead an opposition to Palpatine. But Senator Organa was so closely affiliated with the remnant of the Jedi Order now; his future was so unclear and dangerous, just as it was for the children. Senator Organa would have to disguise his allegiance, if he were to survive the oncoming dark times. Master Kenobi, Master Yoda – they would have to hide. The children could never be allowed to inherit their legacy as Jedi.

An Ahsoka Tano that was not a Jedi was not Ahsoka Tano. The Force was as much a part of her as her breath or her sight or her heart. It was the same for every Jedi; to not feel the Force flowing through yourself was to deny a part of your soul. To live in ignorance of their heritage – it was somehow worse. They would never have the option of knowing the truth, of feeling the song of the universe singing in their veins. "They'll hide. And they'll never know what it is to touch the Force."

Her attention was too tightly kept upon the babies, the midwife droid who cradled them, and the two Jedi Masters who examined them, hovering watchfully and observing the two children. She was slightly startled when a hand fell upon her shoulder that was not Rex's, but rather Daughter's. That small bit of contact alone filled her somehow, and some new swelling of strength seemed to buoy her from within. With the touch, the Daughter's perfect white light brightened and took on the faintest turquoise sheen, as though a little bit of Ahsoka's light flowed into the Daughter, while a little bit of the Daughter's light flowed into her.

Though the colors of the Daughter were cool, her gaze and her smile were warm. "Do not despair. You fear they will be always separate from the Force; this cannot ever be so." When the Daughter removed her hand from Ahsoka's shoulder, the faint tinge of blue-green about her did not fade, but lingered as she gestured towards the twins. "It is easy to believe the Force is one thing, and we are another. But there is no separation. The Force is not subservient to the people who create it, nor are people subservient to the Force. The Force _is_ people, and the will of people. Their life creates it. Makes it grow. It is the force of their energy, hopes and dreams made incarnate, good or ill."

When the Daughter returned her attention to Ahsoka and Rex, her expression was serious, and her voice resonated deep within Ahsoka's montrals, then down, as though she could feel the words with a body that was no longer truly there. "The Force is the unified mind of the universe, striving to understand itself through those who live within it, are a part of it. We are as much the Force as the Force is us. To separate the two is false dichotomy." The Daughter's head tilted to the side, and her smile was kind. "The Force will always be with them, for they are the Force."

The two children lay on the midwife droid's warming tray, feeding happily and sending out tendrils of _curiosity_ and _awe_ into the world, each tinged with _contentment_ now that they were being fed. No matter how much of the legacy of the Jedi was taken from them, no matter how ruined their history, the children would always have the potential to touch it, to feel the Force around them and within them. Someday, they would learn. They would have to. Even in ignorance, the Force would be with them, and within them, and even in the deepest night there were stars.

"So this is really only a beginning?"

The Daughter smiled, the halo of light around her intensifying. "Light and dark are always beside each other. As are birth and death, beginnings and endings…" her smile became wry, and her head tilted to the side with a quirked brow as she looked down at Ahsoka and Rex, standing so close beside each other, their spirit-lights merging so easily together. "Women and men. Even this beginning will have an end, and that end will give birth to another beginning." The Daughter looked again towards the delivery room, towards the still figure of Padme Amidala, then towards the newborns. "Such is the way of life."

The light surrounding her was near to blinding, washing out her features with its brilliance and making the Daughter seem to become a part of the very air. There was still so much darkness, still so much to be done, still so much to worry about, to change – but in her heart, Ahsoka thought that perhaps she could feel that little light of hope already sparking, trying to catch on tinder to grow. Perhaps someday, that little, guttering flame would ignite, spread, and grow strong enough to push back against the Dark Side itself.

Standing so tall above her, the Daughter's form was fading into nothing but a smile and a warm gaze. "May the Force be with you," Ahsoka told her, wishing for some wiser words to say.

"Always," came the reply, and that last glimpse of the Daughter's face disappeared into a nova of light. It tightened, that light, collapsed in upon itself until it was a streak of lightning, flickering and intense, a bolt of pure energy which rose up through the ceiling and out into the galaxy, leaving the space behind her emptier, but with an echo of hope it previously lacked.

It was quiet until Rex said, "If this is another beginning – where will this one end?"

Ahsoka gave a small chuckle as she leaned back against him, her gaze lingering on the ceiling for a moment before she turned away. Rex's hand was steady in hers, his grip firm and strong. The light where her fingers came into contact with his was a white seam from which their colors each spilled over. Cerulean and sunlit gold spiraled up her small wrist and forearm, even as her cobalt and viridian twined with his, creating a complex helix of cool colors that flowed and blended into each other without any real end.

"I don't know." There was so much darkness out there in the galaxy now. So much to overcome. But there was so much light, too, around every person with goodness in them, and hope for a better future. If she and Rex, alone with their little lights, could stand up to the Son, imagine the power of a galaxy allied against the Dark. Ahsoka felt a smile begin to tug at the corners of her mouth. Her chest still ached with so much loss, but for all the gaping emptiness swallowing up the galaxy, it wasn't empty yet. The smile emerged on her lips, tentatively, and she looked up at Rex, and found him already looking down at her. "But I think I'd like to stick around to find out."

His brows lifted, and he seemed amused for a moment, most likely at her sudden resurgence of confidence. She felt his chest move as he chuckled lightly, and there was some warm feeling from him, that carried the bitterness of _loss_, but also the sweetness of something she thought may be _love_. She grinned up at him, and his smile increased, until a thread of _pain_ wove through it again, and it wobbled as he glanced swiftly towards the delivery room.

Ahsoka slipped an arm around his waist, and in return, felt an arm come down around her shoulders. It hurt, looking out over the birthing room, seeing a pair of medically equipped droids come to hover beside what remained of Padme, to check her over carefully as Senator Organa stepped aside to allow them to do their work. They would prepare her for burial, even as her babies were prepared for their new lives.

At the glass, the two ghosts stood, and watched, and waited, their luminosity filling the waiting room with so many colors.

This was an ending; but it was a beginning too.

* * *

><p>Music for this chapter is <em>Diaspora Oratorio<em>, from the Battlestar Galactica soundtrack, by Bear McCreary.

A lot of heady stuff in this chapter. In regards to the Force and what it is, I wanted to try to get back to basics. When we first learn about the Force back in ANH, Obi-Wan describes it as an "energy field" and Yoda eventually goes on to elaborate "life creates it". Though those statements can seem very generic in a sense, I've always thought they were quite profound upon further thought. The Force reminds me of various concepts of life energy found in different cultures – chi (if you're Chinese), ki (if you're Japanese) or prana (if you're Hindu). To take it a step further, I'm also put in mind of the Gaia Hypothesis (or Gaia Theory) in terms that all life creates it – it's the energy of the universe, of all living things, from planets to people. And it follows that if it is the energy of the universe, made of all life and given consciousness by sentient minds, then the will of the Force is no different than the will of the people who create it.

Epilogue is next. I hope you've all enjoyed the tale.

~Queen


	34. Through the Undiscovered Country

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>Epilogue: Through the Undiscovered Country<p>

* * *

><p>Death and the future are perhaps the greatest mysteries, for they are endless expanses of the unknown.<p>

As the years passed, so too did the darkest hours before the dawn; those who stood up and cried out for justice found themselves silenced. Those who spoke out on behalf of the helpless found themselves called traitor. Those who did not obey the word of a dictator found themselves dead.

The harsher the methods the Empire used, the more despair it sought to create, the more control it exercised and abused, the more people began to whisper in dark alleys and behind closed doors that the Empire was not the grand thing they once thought it was. That the peace the Empire brought was the peace of conquerors over the conquered, of oppressors over the oppressed, of the few over the many.

And slowly, little cells began to form into organizations, of friends and allies, of laymen, of professionals, of thinkers and of warriors, of the kind-hearted, the brave, and the wise. And that little bit of light that seemed so lost and overwhelmed in the darkness began to spread, and began to grow, until it was such that it could not be put out, and it ignited the stars.

If there were moments amid the battles when coincidences happened, they were thought to be precisely that: coincidences. There was no reason for anyone to think that a pair of wandering spirits might be keeping an eye out for anyone who thought they'd take a stand.

If the daughter of Padme Amidala heard the voice of a young woman in the back of her mind, telling her there was an access panel to a garbage chute ever so conveniently located near her cell, and that it would make a most excellent escape route, she presumed, as most people would, that it was her own.

If a scruffy-looking smuggler from Corellia's sense of conscience occasionally sounded strangely like an annoyed military officer, he told himself he was just imagining things – of course there was more to him than money. Luke was a good kid. It'd be a pity if he got shot down on his first real battle, while everyone was relying on him.

If the son of Anakin Skywalker heard a pair of voices ordering him to wake up at a particularly auspicious moment, because that wampa was hungry and he was next on the menu, he assumed it was a bit of luck, or maybe his Jedi training was coming along a bit better than he thought. If he imagined a gentle, encouraging voice telling him how to summon his lightsaber from a snowbank, it was probably the result of his injuries and all that blood rushing to his head.

And when the man who was once Darth Vader died in the arms of his son and found, to his great surprise a moment or so later, that he was facing the man who was once his Captain, and the girl who was once his Padawan, and both were smiling. It was strange though - for some reason his Padawan was also crying.

He looked at her, confused, until she squeezed his oddly glowing hand and said, with a laugh that broke through tears, "Well, _somebody_ has to keep you in one piece until you figure out how to do this on your own, Skyguy."

And between the two of them, and the presence of his old Master standing just a few steps away, with his arms folded across his chest and a wry smile on his face, Anakin Skywalker realized how very, very fortunate he really was.

* * *

><p>An explosion sounded overhead, and this time, he turned towards it voluntarily rather than reflexively.<p>

A string of glittering blue and orange lights bloomed overhead, each more magnificent than the last; Rex usually considered explosives dangerous weapons rather than a means of celebration, but there was something fitting about lighting up the sky with fireworks, about undermining the initial purpose of explosives and rendering them a sign of victory and probable peace.

The blossoms of fire hung in the sky like giant, shimmering chandeliers, their petals curving up and out while lighting the night sky entirely too briefly. The sound of their bursts echoed off the valleys and mountains surrounding the camp, adding to the noise of celebration; music thrummed through the air, whistles and clapping keeping time to the sound of drums and flutes.

A pair of Ewoks ran behind them, short legs carrying them across the platform and down onto some stairs, then down to another platform. The trees were all interconnected with them, platforms and bridges and stairs and little wooden houses, all aloft in the leafy branches. He and Ahsoka sat on the ledge of one such platform, their legs dangling over the edge. Ahsoka was swinging hers idly, while her free hand rested on the platform behind her, propping her up so that she could lean back and watch the fireworks erupting overhead in repeated, dazzling displays. Their brilliance lit up the night sky again, sizzling through the air and reflecting off her face in a burst of green and gold. She was smiling.

Their handfast kept them connected, just as it had for twenty years now. It was strange to think of it as such a long time; it wasn't always peaceful. The dark times and the war were a strain, and they had their moments where they disagreed, and argued, and got annoyed with constantly being in each other's presence – but never enough to let go, or to want to let go.

He ran a thumb over her knuckles, and her smile widened, and her eyes slanted towards him warmly.

"Ends and beginnings," she said, then looked upward as another burst of fireworks lit the night. "I just hope this beginning doesn't end for a long, long time."

"Do we keep watching, then? Keep waiting?"

Ahsoka sighed, looked down and out and across the celebration, and he followed suit. The heroes were in the midst of it all. Han Solo was swaggering across the clearing bearing two cups of some sort of spiked juice, his blazing carmine and deep navy colored aura wide and proud around him, a thin ribbon of its light stretching across the clearing towards his destination and tying into that of Leia Organa. She was laughing, her head tilted back in good humor, and relief and joy reflected in the deep luster of her crimson and gold spirit-light. It wreathed her like dancing flames, and stood in such warm contrast to the cool cobalt and soft silver of her brother sitting beside her, chatting and apparently retelling some amusing story.

Rex was no Jedi, to sense the feelings of these people, but he remembered all too well the feeling of coming home safe after a victory. And this was perhaps the most decisive victory in the history of the Republic; there was still work to do, still planets to liberate and Imperials to chase down, but in this moment, they could all rest certain in the knowledge that they won. That dawn had finally returned to the galaxy, and they had brought it.

Ahsoka was considering his question, her expression thoughtful as she looked down at the trio. Han sat down beside Leia, offered her a drink, and she nudged him playfully with her shoulder, grinning. Their spirit-lights flickered teasingly off each other, apparently flirting quite outrageously. Luke seemed mostly amused, grinning as he leaned back against the trunk of a tree, apparently content to watch them bicker.

"Do we stay like this forever?" Ahsoka asked him, continuing his question. She squeezed his hand and let her spirit-light caress his, gently. He lifted his left hand, holding hers, and placed his right one on top of it, hand upon hand upon hand.

Twenty years of fighting on, even from beyond the grave. Was it time to rest? To let go? There were days they were both tired, but to rest – to rest forever – it seemed like such a long time, to sleep, to dream. Such a long time to be still. There would be no new beginnings for them, if they let themselves fade into the Force. No more endings, either. Just energy, and flow, and eternity.

He hesitated. Ahsoka's free hand came to rest on his cheek, and she observed him carefully, her head tilted to the side. After a long moment, she said, "You know, it will be Ullambana season soon."

Ullambana, with its bright fires, its dancing shadows, and its welcome of the dead.

Perhaps they could have one last beginning.

* * *

><p>The blue ball flew up into the air, and the two children ran beneath it, shrieking as they sought to catch it before it hit the ground.<p>

She lifted her cup of tea to her white lips and smiled, watching them. The tea was cooling, mellow on her tongue but slightly tart from the nettleberry leaves. There wasn't much time left; she was only half in her dancing costume, her skirt long and light down to her ankles, the tail of the woven belt hanging like a pendulum between her hips. It wouldn't take too long to weave the dancer's headdress between her montrals, but the tricky part was keeping the strands of glittering beads from tangling with the akul teeth that framed her face. But Ashla had danced the lead at the Ullambana fire many times before, and so had much practice in arranging bits of fanciful decoration such as headdresses. It wouldn't take too long to prepare herself, and she always watched her daughter a little more closely during the Ullambana season. So she leaned against the frame of her door with her cup of cooling tea in her hands, and watched as the children played in the fading, red sunlight.

Her daughter looked like her. The same round-edged rectangles over her eyes, the same smoke-white lips, and a curve to her cheek and her chin that would someday lose its babyish roundness and take on the same definition Ashla's had once she reached adulthood.

The difference was the eyes. Blue wasn't quite a rare color, but it was uncommon enough among a species that tended towards eyes of black, grey, brown. Initially, she'd intended to name her daughter after Mother Ti, but those eyes – those eyes on a girl born on a day of Ullambana – no. She was _muuti_, a ghost born child, and there was only one name suitable for her.

Ahsoka caught the ball, only to laugh wildly and duck around her friend, then throw it up into the air again as high and hard as she could. It soared, crossing the proximity sensors on the flock of faintly lambent sky lanterns idling above and sending them skittering away into the spindly net of bao tree branches arching overhead. Ashla sighed. She'd have to warn Ahsoka again – targeting the sky lanterns was not a part of the game, however much a challenge to her abilities she found it.

They were always so careful, she and Mother Ti. The day Ahsoka began floating things she wanted to herself – a tooka doll, food, Ashla's akul tooth headdress – was a day of joy and hope. The Empire was gone, and the Sith with it. But they were wary, too – the last Jedi to claim the name of Skywalker had fallen to such depths, and for three Togruta to step forward and call themselves Jedi posed so much risk.

And so they waited, and listened, and watched, and Ashla trained under Mother Ti, and Ahsoka trained under Ashla, until one day several months ago, Mother Ti said, in a strange voice, "I do not quite feel well," and breathed her last a few days later.

Ashla drank her tea until there was none left, and her cup felt cold to the touch. This season, she would dance for the woman who became her mother and her mentor, so many years ago. She would also dance for the four men who brought her to Shili, to safety, before they scattered among the stars. She wondered whatever became of them. If they found their own safety, their own new lives.

The sound of bare feet padding quietly on the floor behind her made her tilt her head to the side, and she smiled. Taku's voice was low and amused as he slid his arms around her waist and pulled her back against his chest. He lowered his head so that his breath would whisper against her montral. His hands roamed just a little bit across the fabric of her clothing, teasing her sides. "Shouldn't you be getting dressed?"

She chuckled. On another day, she'd have shivered and taken his flirting a little more seriously, leaving Ahsoka to play with Turion while they retired to their room. But not today, not right now. Ashla lifted a hand and caressed his cheek, then kissed it, smiling warmly. "Yes, I should. I'd ask for help, but somehow I don't think I'd actually end up dressed."

Taku laughed and kissed her montral, then pressed his cheek against where he'd pressed his lips, and joined her in leaning out the doorway. Turion had finally managed to wrest the ball from Ahsoka's control, and was running around the yurt-ringed yard with it raised over his lumpy montrals, whooping with victory. Ahsoka, of course, was charging after, looking like she was going to simply tackle him in an effort to get it back.

She shook her head and smiled wryly. Turion was only a few days older than Ahsoka. The first time they stood face to face, neither hid behind the legs of their parents, or cautiously tried to introduce themselves to the other toddler. There was only a long moment where they simply stared at each other, blinking wide eyes – Ahsoka's blue, Turion's a nice shade of honey-brown – and then Ahsoka reached out a hand, and Turion took it, and they'd been inseparable ever since.

But then, the last time Ashla saw Ahsoka Tano, she was holding someone's hand. Perhaps he was with her still.

"_Muuti_," Taku murmured beside her montral, watching as Ahsoka finally leapt forward far enough to plow into Turion's middle and knock him into the ground. The ball went flying through the air, and the two children scuffled in the dirt, wrestling and kicking up dust. Ashla sighed, and Taku laughed. "I'll clean her up while you get dressed for the bonfire. Turion too. Don't worry."

Ahsoka would be a Jedi one day, but Ashla doubted there would be much of the sense of formality and sobriety to her behavior that she remembered from the Masters in the Temple. The galaxy was so different now. Perhaps a different kind of Jedi was also needed. She only hoped that the rumors of the man named Skywalker reopening the Temple were true; if they were, if he really was a Jedi that would not succumb to the Dark the way the last Skywalker did, perhaps the time to finally return truly was at hand. The long ruin of the Order would end, and something new would form from what little remained of the old.

Her fingers curled around her empty cup of tea, and she leaned back slightly into Taku's warm embrace. She would dance tonight to remember not only Mother Ti, but all the Jedi so long since lost. Were they out there too? Watching from the Netherworld to see if the Jedi would truly return?

It was sunset, and stars were rising in the east, out of a darkening sky. The sky lanterns were floating tentatively downward, closer, brightening the air as night began again to fall. Somewhere in the distance, deeper into the village, she could hear the first thrumming of the drums, calling people to the bonfire, to the dance, and to the warmth it provided throughout the night. One of the neighbors stepped out of his yurt and knelt beside the doorway, laying out a woven mat and three bowls he would soon fill with a drink, a meal, and a sweet. She would have to set hers out before leaving for the fire; it wouldn't do for Mother Ti to feel unwelcome, should she stop by for the evening.

Ashla smiled.

Turion had pushed himself up to his feet, and Ahsoka was sitting on the ground, grinning up at him. Their ball lay several meters away, discarded and apparently forgotten. The little boy reached out a hand, and the little girl took it, and even after she stood, neither let go.

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><p>Music for this chapter is <em>The Greatest Story Never Told<em> by Murray Gold, from the _Doctor Who_ soundtrack.

Turion is Rex, of course – I debated awhile about what name to give him here. "Rex" of course means "king" in Latin, so I tried to think along those lines – a "centurion" was a military leader of a hundred men in the Roman army, so I cropped it and turned it into merely "Turion" as a name.

Taku is the little boy from the first "Festival of Ghosts" chapter, if you've forgotten him. He's all grown up now.

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><p><em>I hope you've all enjoyed the tale – and to all of you who have so kindly followed it, my thanks.<em>

_Please stay tuned for a series of bonus epilogues, involving the lives of Barriss, Cody, Tup, Chopper, Gus and Jesse. _

_~Queen_


	35. Bonus Epilogue 1

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>Bonus Epilogue 1:<p>

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><p>Her feet flew across the hot pavement, propelling her forward.<p>

Screams and blaster shots dropped away behind her as she pulled ahead, breaking out from the limits of the crowd. Sweat beaded on her forehead and trickled down her temples and neck, grabbing at the strands of her dark hair and sticking it to her skin in a damp mass. The tall buildings on either side of her provided some measure of shade, but the heat of the planet was so prevalent, so moist and all encompassing, there was no coolness to be found there.

"Right! Now!"

She obeyed the command swiftly and automatically; she dodged right, ducking into an intersecting alley as a chunk of plaster exploded out of the wall behind her, courtesy of a well-placed shot. Two steps further, and a civilian stepped out of a doorway, his arms full of boxes; she spun easily, arms flying outward as she avoided him, then used the spin's momentum to power her upward, allowing her to roll over the hood of a parked speeder as another scream sounded from behind. She registered a stinging sensation in her thigh as she spun over the hood, just above the knee. Too close. Another two centimeters down and one to the right and it would have been enough to blow her knee out from behind. There would be no more running, then.

She hit the ground, rolled, bolted forward again as the speeder exploded behind her in a wave of heat and black smoke, one of the shots chasing her hitting its' power cells. More screams, some of them obscenities, rose up along with the all too familiar voice of a clone shouting through his helmet's speakers: "Stop!"

As if stopping would lead to anything other than her execution? If they succeeded in killing her today, she would make her death a costly one.

"Left, then fifty meters straight. Get ready to jump. Be right back."

At her nod, the presence at her side vanished.

If they did catch her, at least she wouldn't die alone. The smile that forced its way onto her lips was strained, tired. She did not fear death. Not after three and a half years of the constant barrage of war, not after eight months of running, running, running from those who were once friends, from allies lost to the machinations of an evil man. Certainly not after the moment her friend Ahsoka Tano shimmered to life in front of her seven months ago and said, as though she weren't speaking to her from beyond the grave and the galaxy hadn't been completely blown all to hell: "Hi Barriss. You look awful."

She turned left, and began to lengthen her legs. Fifty meters. She was on a street again, a cobbled one, narrow enough that she could reach out her hands and touch the stucco sides of the buildings, trail her fingers over their rough surface. It was residential; the buildings were cracked and worn, but painted brightly in primary, almost garish colors. The small stoops that led to doors were washed, bits of wild grass peeking out from their edges. If she had to turn and fight, this would not be such a bad place, so long as the civilians stayed indoors. It was too narrow for more than two or three clones to approach her at once, at least from the ground. Of course, it would only take minutes for them to call in some sort of air support and surround her. And since she was running, not fighting, she was essentially caught in a galley down which the stormtroopers could shoot.

Forty-five meters. Past a green house on the right, blue on the left. Forty. Past a red house on the right, orange on the left. They huddled together in tight rows, a rainbow of painted stucco. Thirty-five meters, past a yellow house on the right, pink on the left.

She was used to running. Lactic acid excreted by her muscles was brushed away with a wide sweep of the Force through her body, keeping her movements painless. Oxygen was circulated more rapidly, filling her lungs to capacity and oxygenating her blood, keeping her breath steady, even. She leaned forward, stretching for the end of the street, where she could see a tall stretch of blue sky. Twenty-five meters, past a purple colored house on the right, another red house on the left.

At twenty meters, she felt the first shot aimed at her back, felt the ripple in the air that indicated the anticipation of success, felt that anticipation stab at her between her shoulder blades, a little to the left, just where her heart would be when the shot burned through her. One more second, and that shot would hit her there, and her mad dash for an impossible escape would be over. She spun to the right, facing them for mere seconds, her hands rising in command, and the blasters in the grip of the two fastest stormtroopers jerked upward, firing into the sky instead of into her back. One shot tore through a line of hanging laundry, scorching the fabric as it raced upward. The other rose, a lurid red against the stretch of cloudless blue sky above, a signal flare for her location.

Another motion, like throwing a ball underhand, just as a third stormtrooper arrived behind the first two, sent them flying backward.

Then she was facing the end of the street, running again, lengthening her strides. Fifteen meters, the last house gave way to a garden full of hanging vegetables. Ten meters, she was past the stakes and curling vines. Five meters, she could feel the press of death trying to mark her back once more. One meter, her legs bent and her feet left the ground as the vast expanse of the valley below came into full view, along with the rooftops of a thousand garishly hued buildings and a sparkling green ocean beyond.

For an instant, she hung in the air, rising, her body stretched out long and straight as streaks of red fire winged out below her and out into the empty air. Gravity tugged as she reached the apex of her leap. She bent, twisting mid-air as the first stormtroopers crested the edge of the cliff, and she pulled energy into her hands and pushed, striking not the troopers themselves but rather the uneven grey limestone below them. It cracked, splintered, and slid. As the troopers lost their balance to the beginning of a landslide, Barriss Offee was propelled by the Force another twenty meters out from the precipice, her sweaty hair flying up above her face as she continued to drop.

The sun was golden, round in the cloudless sky, and she saw it for roughly ten seconds before she twisted again, rolling over so that she could control her descent. This time, it was not a rough, wild push against stone she needed, but a softer bit of energy to cushion her landing. The rooftops were flat; so long as they were sturdy, too, she could land. The long, loose fabric of her clothes flapped around her, beating the air even as the air whipped her face, screaming at her foolishness for leaping off a ledge, a sheer stone cliff, half a kilometer above the next level of ground. Her eyes watered as the wind stung them, but she forced them to stay open; she needed a landing site.

Stretched in a crescent along a white beach, there were plenty of locations to choose from, but there was one building, taller and closer than the others on the slope of its' hill, that was rushing to meet her the most swiftly. Barriss softened her knees, ignoring the twinge that reminded her she had been grazed, and pulled her legs in front of her just as the rooftop drew up below her.

The landing was hard, and she rolled with it. Gravel crunched under her body and the uneven rocks scattered across the roof poked at her. Another twinge in her thigh and she was on her feet again, leaping over the side of the structure and dropping three stories to the ground, much to the astonishment of a group of gaping children playing limmie in the empty lot below.

Little kids, playing boloball while she ran for her life. The contrast was striking. She held a finger to her lips for a moment, and the little girl holding the ball smiled.

Then, again, she ran.

The houses were on a steep slope that led up to the drop cliff behind her, and her run was filled with half leaps as she pounded down the streets, leaping from one level of permacrete to another, running down steep, narrow stairs that led from one tier of dwellings to another. The smell of cooking food was prevalent, grilling meat spicy on the air along with the scent of salt water.

The presence of her deceased friend returned to her side, just to her left. Ahsoka's voice vibrated the air. "Keep moving north, parallel to the coastline."

Barriss nodded once, then ducked down a narrow corridor between two structures, turning to the side and edging sideways down the gap until she reached a small common area between houses. Several startled women looked up from the splashing fountain there to watch her dart across the court and leap over a locked iron gate at the far end.

"Your plan," Barriss puffed as she ran down the steps away from the courtyard, "is insane, Ahsoka."

"It'll work," the voice at her ear reassured, sounding both confident and amused. Barriss remembered all too well her friend's penchant for unconventional maneuvers, but this was particularly unorthodox – not to mention crazy.

She reached a long arcade of shops, the covered stretch filled with people haggling, arguing, laughing, talking. Barriss slowed her pace, walking briskly rather than running, while she sent a curl of cool, relaxing energy towards her right side, which was beginning to cramp from her marathon run. Barriss cast a narrow look towards her left, unable to see the face attached to the voice, but knowing Ahsoka was there, or very close to there. She murmured, bowing her head and trying not to look too obviously like she was talking to herself, "Stealing a ship from the Empire is not a theft they will take lightly. Besides, it will be one of the least conspicuous vessels I could possibly take."

Ahsoka laughed. "You have any idea what Imp starships are going for on Nar Shaddaa these days? You can live off that for months or buy yourself your own ship. Two ships, if you get one used."

"If I can make it to Hutt space," Barriss snapped back, as the stitch in her side finally eased, only to be replaced by a pang of hunger. She'd been looking for lunch when Ahsoka had arrived with her warning that there was a squad of stormtroopers closing on her position. The smell of cooking stalls perfumed the air and her mouth watered as she pushed her way past the crush of sweaty bodies towards the end of the shopping arcade. A large Rodian appeared before her with a tall, pegged staff, silks and jewelry dripping off it as he shoved it towards her in an effort at selling her something. Barriss leveled an annoyed look at him and made a small wave of her hand while saying, "Aside," and the Rodian danced out of her way.

The end of the shopping arcade loomed into view, and Barriss eyed a tray of nut stuffed pastries at a vendor on her right. Her stomach growled again, and she winced. Theft from the Empire she had no trouble with, but stealing petty things like food from civilians grated on her conscience. Still, she was hungry and her race across the city wasn't making things any better. She slipped past the vendor, pocketing a pastry sitting on the corner of the shop, while the vendor haggled with another customer. Two, three, four meters along and two more to her right, and she was deep in the crowd again, surrounded by the stink of heated bodies, sweat and hormones evaporating into the air, shouldering past a cluster of Rodians and then a knot of humans. She stuffed the pastry in her mouth and made a small mental apology to the baker. She barely chewed, swallowing rapidly as she downed the pastry. Her stomach growled once and then eased, and she stuck her fingers in her mouth to wipe off the sticky residue of the glaze.

Running, running, all the time, even for eating. Only a step or two ahead of the Empire.

"The ship will be guarded," she murmured, turning her head aside as she cleared the far end of the arcade and stepped back out into the sunlight. The press of bodies eased and she moved more swiftly through the crowds, mostly headed towards the shopping area. "I cannot fight an entire squadron like this."

Ahsoka did laugh this time, but it was not without a grim edge. "Taken care of. Head uphill, quarter kilometer. Entrance to landing docks for the shopping district. Your ride is parked there."

At least there would be other starships nearby if she needed them. Her stomach rumbled again, more pleasantly this time, and she lengthened her strides as the crowd continued to thin. "Taken care of how exactly?"

The road widened and began to fill with speeder trucks, humming along the ground on their low level repulsors. Barriss angled herself to the side, stepping up onto the sidewalk to get out of the way, keeping her pace quick but casual.

Ahsoka's voice sounded slightly behind her this time, though still closer to her left ear than her right. "One of these days, I'll have Rex show you his 'angry clone Captain poltergeist' impression. He's very convincing." There was a pause, and Ahsoka sighed. "Oh come on, Rex, you know you enjoy scaring them half to death." Another pause, then, "I do not! It's better than having her fight her way through, though!"

Barriss shook her head and resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Ghostly bickering was still a concept she was unfamiliar with. The one sided conversation was particularly odd, like listening to half of a communication.

"We've taken care of it, for at least a little while. It won't hold them long, though. They always come back, usually better armed so they can shoot whatever spooked them – what?"

Barriss grit her teeth. Wonderful. Heavily armed stormtroopers who were already afraid of the ghosts stirring up trouble. Her brisk walk turned into an uphill sprint, and the road widened again as she came approached the entrance to the docks. Several streets fanned out from the entrance, and Barriss slowed again, edging up behind a group of Bothans and humans that were heading in towards the landing bays.

She almost walked into the human man that was at the rear of the group, he stopped so suddenly.

The landing platform was a dodecagon, with one side serving as the entrance to the platform. The remaining eleven sides of the platform were only half occupied by freighters, riggers, runabouts and starcraft of various shapes, sizes and levels of repair. Aside from the ships, there were a pair of emergency responder droids hovering above the center of the ring of ships, spraying dry chemical foam everywhere, turning the platform into a bubbling white mess of fire suppressant. Several of the ships showed half covered evidence of char marks on them, as though someone had been firing wildly in circles at a target that neither held still nor could be shot.

A target like a ghost.

"What the kriffing hell is going on!" one of the Bothans bellowed, and the pair of droids spun in opposite directions, coating the ships in another layer of spray foam as they beeped a series of alarmed noises at no one in particular. "My ship! Krething droids!"

"Someone should get the authorities!" Ahsoka's voice rang out, just to Barriss' right, and the men in front of her turned, and, seeing only Barriss, focused on her. Barriss tried not to shoot Ahsoka's invisible form a glare.

Instead, she widened her eyes and looked breathless, covering her mouth with a hand. The men before her were clearly more taken with the mess of white foam covering everything rather than the nearly invisible scorch marks beneath the goo. "My ship too! There must have been some sort of droid malfunction – someone should get the authorities, or whoever is in charge of those droids up here!" She dropped her hand from her mouth and frowned at the scene, summoning a current of the Force and curling it around the group, pressuring them into action. "It's going to take an hour to clean all that goop off! I just got some dings hammered out of the hull, too, polished and everything. What a mess." The Force pulsed around her as she gave it a final push towards the men, suggesting as strongly as she could. "You should really get someone down here to clean all this up."

There were mutters of agreement from the three Bothans and two humans, the humans nodding in sympathy at the perceived shared plight. The Bothan at the front, presumably the leader of the little band, snorted as he turned and began to storm back out. "_Koochoo_ droids! Where is the station master? I'll have his droids clean up my ship or I'll get recompense for this out of his hide, that _gaggalak mursto_!" The rest of the Bothan captain's tirade ran off into a string of obscenities, primarily in Huttese, as he stomped back out of the landing bay, his crew trailing him, each looking variously bemused, amused, agitated, irritated, and generally annoyed.

"Told you it would work," Ahsoka said, not without a tone of smugness, as the group made it past the entrance.

It wouldn't work for long, though. Whatever Ahsoka and Rex had done to spook the Imperials wouldn't keep them away for more than a few minutes. It was likely they were regrouping even now. The faster she got away, the better.

The Imperial transport was clearly different from the others, which were primarily for in-system travel or for hauling cargo. The sleeker, more deadly appearance of the Lambda-class shuttle was made for the transport of small numbers of troops – there were roughly fifteen men after her, according to Ahsoka's information, not quite the capacity of the shuttle, but near enough. It's wings, straight up in landing position, ran parallel to the dorsal wing running down its back. A Lambda class shuttle didn't seem like much to look at, but it would be swift, capable of transporting her halfway across the galaxy without a refuel, and she would have at least a couple hours to make use of its transponder codes before it was registered as stolen. It would also sell very well on the black market, on nearly any Hutt planet. She would do well in credits.

"It's empty. We started in there." Rex's voice was lower, deeper than Ahsoka's, and Barriss tried not to flinch at its' sound. Rex had never turned to the Empire. Rex died long before he ever got the chance. Still, that voice, once so comforting since it meant help and backup and safety and friendship, had become such a threat. Barriss breathed in deeply and expelled it, stepping towards the shuttle. Rex was still a source of help and backup and safety and friendship. She only wished it were true for the million or so of his living brothers, now servants of the Empire rather than the Republic.

There was an instant's warning; a flare of agitation mixed with resolve that stabbed her in the back at the same moment Ahsoka cried out in warning, and Barriss spun, her lightsaber leaping to her hand from under the loose tunic she wore and igniting with the familiar snap-hiss of plasma burning through the air. Her blue blade slammed into the red bolt as it sizzled towards her chest, careening off into the air and winging one of the two droids, still spraying chemical foam onto the ships. The one struck let out a high pitched shriek of alarm, and began spinning away from the platform, its' partner trailing after and clicking a series of alarmed noises of its' own.

Soresu. She hadn't used it in six weeks and three days. Not since the last time she was surrounded, cornered in. She'd killed four men that day, in blank white armor and blank black eyepieces. She didn't remember crying as she cut them down, but there were tracks of water on her face later, when she reached up to touch a cheek. All of them, used and being used, just like the Jedi were used by a single Sith, playing a high stakes game with the galaxy itself.

There was only one trooper. He seemed strangely locked in place, halfway to the cover of the ship on his right. He was open, exposed – it would only take an instant for her to leap, block his shots, cut him down. This place was not quite as good for fighting as the alleyway earlier; more men could approach at once – but they all needed to come in through one gate, she was ready, lightsaber drawn, fighting for her life. Fifteen men against one Jedi Knight armed, dangerous, and desperate for escape – the odds were on her side, not theirs. She had control of the fighting ring, so long as she could keep them bottlenecked at the entrance. Should they surround her, escape would be far more difficult.

One man. The others had to be nearby; perhaps he was the swiftest. If so, he was foolish for running in without backup against a superior opponent. Even more foolish for standing so still, half crouched, blaster pointed at her, but not firing.

His hands were shaking, making the blaster tremble; she could see his chest rise and fall with each breath, even under all the armor. A pervasive feeling of distress began to cloud the ring of ships, rolling off him in a muggy sense of sudden doubt.

Barriss sank deeper into her defensive stance, knees bent, lightsaber parallel to the ground, left hand extended as though in warning. Did she know this man? Was he once from the 41st? Did he hesitate because they once worked together? It would not be the first time she saw a former ally turn against her. Why did this one hesitate?

"Barriss," Ahsoka's voice breathed beside her ear, very quietly, "Be careful. That…that's Cody."

She did not twitch, nor did she blink, but a feeling of queasiness built up in her belly and she felt a strange ache. There were no defining marks on him; not like the old days of the Republic, when commanders were marked so clearly by color. The stormtroopers were white, all in white, with no such bits of difference or individuality marking them. Blank slates, all of them, filled with Imperial propaganda. Cody once wore the yellow-orange of the 212th, Master Kenobi's battalion. Now he wore the meaningless white of the Empire.

She held his hand, once. Only once, and for only a moment. It was a strange moment, too, of self-doubt, of fear for her future, of failure on her first mission, a fear for those who she was supposed to lead, to keep safe. She knew half of it was Ahsoka's standing there, prodding her with questions now, but it made no less impact at the time. In her moment of self-doubt, fear and uncertainty, Cody had held her hand.

Through the fabric of his glove, she could not feel his skin, but there was warmth there nonetheless. Her hand in his hand; such a gesture of solidarity and support, but more than that too. It was a moment of such odd intimacy, it took her breath away. It was too close, too familiar a gesture, and when she'd looked at his face he'd seemed to close, his eyes too wide and too astonished, his lips parted ever so slightly and his body tilted forward. She'd imagined it would only take a moment for one of them to lean forward, for her to kiss him, for him to kiss her, and she was so startled, not by the fact of his closeness or even the possibility of it happening, but by the fact she was anticipating it.

It was a strange moment, a vulnerable moment, and it was shared between them like a secret. It was too little a thing to rest her hopes on. She did not want to kill him. Did not want to kill anyone, really. So she hesitated, waiting for him to attack, to ruin that memory of intimacy, that private moment, that almost kiss, that holding of hands they shared in a briefing room a year ago.

She waited. And waited. One moment became two. Two became three, and still he did not move, frozen in place, those black eye pieces fixed so blankly on her while the miasma of doubt around him intensified until it was as thick as the humidity of the air and it pressed against her hard enough to choke.

There was something else in the doubt. It was thin, reedy, silvery and fragile, like a ribbon of light cutting through a storm cloud.

He was waiting for her to attack. Waiting for her to move forward, to cut him down, to ruin that moment, just as she was waiting for him.

He couldn't kill her.

Muscle by muscle, the tension in her body eased. Her lightsaber lowered, fractionally, until it rested at her side, poised for movement, but in a clear non-aggressive pose. Her legs straightened, drew slightly more together, in a less combative posture.

Her left hand, extended in Soresu's warning, turned over into invitation.

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><p>Next epilogue belongs to Cody...<p>

~Queen


	36. Bonus Epilogue 2

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

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><p>Bonus Epilogue 2:<p>

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><p>Cody hated teaching.<p>

It didn't help that the new clones from Centax were idiots – no, that wasn't fair. They weren't idiots, they were brothers, and doing everything they could to learn from him. But they were ignorant, and inexperienced, and children in the bodies of adult men. Some would say the same for him, fourteen, almost fifteen in the body of a man in his prime, but these – no. They were two year olds in the bodies of men just entering their prime. _Two_. At two, Cody was just learning how to clean his blaster, take it apart and put it together again, not to mention read and write. These men were flash programmed even more intensely than he was, than his Kaminoan brothers were. Everything stuffed into their heads in utero, with no space for anything but what was put there by the Empire. All they could do was learn, soaking up knowledge like sponges, breathing in information like air.

But they had no experience. No common sense, because they were too young to have ever earned any. Everything was literal to them, everything by the book, just as they were taught while they still swam in a sea of chemicals in their growth jars.

They had no idea how to react to something out of the ordinary.

So they screamed, like little boys crying for their big brother when a monster popped out of the dark. So he ran, trying to guess at what the monster was, trying to hold them together, trying to keep them from panicking. Things he'd have never had to do a year ago, when he was leading the 212th, had competent, Kaminoan troopers with him and behind him, and a leader who actually listened to his advice.

He slammed hard into a Herglic as he rounded a corner, galloping down the steep slope of a narrow street and trying to cut the Jedi off. The Herglic warbled a warning and an apology as Cody shoved him aside and pelted down a set of crumbling stairs that curved around a green stucco plastered building then through an alleyway, down, down, downhill. His legs pumped, his breath hissed in and out of his helmet, the suit desperately trying to regulate his body temperature, between his running and the sweltering humidity outside.

But there was a larger issue at hand than panicked little boys in the bodies of men.

A flick of his eyes to the right and he opened a comm channel, a little red light glowing in the bottom left of his HUD. "Clicks, status report."

There was the barest breath of a pause. A year ago, with Kaminoan troopers, that pause would never have existed. Clicks would have been proud to replace his designation with a name, not confused by Cody's gesture of kindness, giving him a name rather than number. There was a test, six weeks back, where his cadets had to communicate with each other, though their communications systems were offline. Clicks invented a primitive code of clicking, insectile noises his team was able to use in the forest setting.

It should have been a proud moment, his naming. A moment where Clicks smiled and his squad grinned.

Instead, all he got were puzzled looks.

Even after an explanation, the cadets seemed only moderately intrigued by the idea. Clicks still had problems responding to the name; in his head, he was still just SC-3-1723. He breathed in knowledge like air, but couldn't comprehend his own uniqueness.

And so, whenever Cody called him by name, there was an ever so brief pause, as though Clicks had to remember that he was, in fact, the one being addressed.

"Sir," Clicks' voice said, sounding stunned and breathless somehow. "She…she jumped."

Cody leapt off the bottom step of the stairs to the sound of startled shrieks, emerging into a small plaza with a bubbling water fountain. Civilians took one look at the sight of a white-armored stormtrooper with his blaster raised and began shouting, scattering in alarm. He scanned the plaza, ignoring the running bodies. There were three other paths he could take, winging west, north, and south. "Explain!"

"She jumped, sir! Right off the cliff, sir! Half a klick between here and the next level! Just jumped off, nearly took me and 3-2318 with her!"

A second red light near the bottom of his screen flashed, and a small viewscreen popped up, a feed from Clicks' helmet camera. The timestamp at the bottom was marked forty-five seconds ago, and was speeding forward; the view was of the back of a running woman, perhaps forty meters or so in the lead, rushing down a narrow street between houses. Then she was a leaping dark blur against the bright sky, with Clicks running up behind her. Clicks looked upward, and she vanished into a shadowy blotch against the sun in the sky, growing more distinct as she dropped. Before the helmet could get a positive ID to run against the databank of Jedi, the world tilted, and Clicks was thrown from his feet.

The video feed ended, disappearing from his screen. "She was headed east, but…"

Clicks had never seen a Jedi before. Didn't know what they could do. The note of skepticism in his tone suggested Clicks doubted she was alive after a dive off one of the city's rocky cliffs.

Cody breathed hard for a long moment. He could encourage that belief. Call off the hunt. Reorganize it into a body search, and by the time they agreed there was no body, that somehow she survived, she'd be well off the planet.

He could let her live. He could make an impressive display of tearing the city apart for her body, while she slipped away into space to live a little longer, until she encountered another clone commander who had never learned to doubt.

"Sir!" 3-2218's voice interrupted, excited. Another video feed flipped up into the corner of his display, this one zooming in just in time to see a blurry figure in loose clothing leap off the side of building. "Kriff, she made it!"

3-2218 was doing what he was supposed to do. What Cody was supposed to be doing; hunting down a Jedi, a threat to the Empire. That was what a good soldier did. Followed orders, did what he was told, ended threats to the sovereignty of the Galactic Empire. Pacified the galaxy.

What was left of it, at least, after the Clone War. After the Republic. After the Jedi.

Cody's voice was rough when he responded, "Which direction?"

"North, sir!"

Cody turned right and headed north; there was only one thing of interest for a fugitive towards the north. Landing bays. She was looking to get off world. No choices. He was a clone. No, not even that. A stormtrooper. There was no other life. No other end, except for death. The usual way out of the GAR was the same as the usual way out of the Imperial Army. Maybe she'd kill him if they faced off. He wasn't quite ready to die, but this life wasn't much of a life, either. He could keep teaching his little brothers to be better soldiers for an evil regime, and watch them die at two, three years old, their hearts full of loyalty to a cause they'd been programmed for.

He cut off his communication channel for a moment and cursed, as lividly and fluidly as his ragged breath would allow. The crowds thinned and he was under the shade of a palm-lined street, winding its' way towards the mercantile districts, and beyond them, the docks where all those goods and supplies were delivered from. Another moment, and the channel was open again, and he flipped open a display that targeted the locations of his team. They were scattered around the upper levels of the city, winging around the last location of the Jedi, trying to catch her in a net.

He had to be a leader. They had no one else. Little brothers. He hated his job. Hated them and their need of him. No. Not quite. They didn't need him. Not _him_. They needed a leader who was just as dutiful and faithful to the Empire as they were.

Cody's voice was as calm and authoritative as it always was, when he spoke. "Head towards the docking bays. Converge at the following coordinates and wait for further orders."

He and his brothers were soldiers, not peacekeepers. He'd thought, in the beginning, there was no difference, but there was. It was part of the undoing of the Jedi. Turning peacekeepers, meant to protect and serve the people, into soldiers, meant to crush enemies and cause them so much pain they were forced to retreat, to surrender. That was what you did to win a war. The Emperor understood that. Destroy the enemy, no matter the cost. Strike at their heart. That was how you won a war. The very nature of it undermined the entire structure of the Jedi; to protect and defend at all costs, rather than kill enough, destroy enough, cause suffering enough, to win.

Strategy and ruthlessness and damn the civvies – that was how to win a war. The Chancellor had not been at war with the Separatists, but with the Jedi. He struck at their heart and tore it to pieces.

Right alongside the Jedi were so many little boys stuffed into grown up bodies and grown up armor. Just like the Jedi, they were being torn apart from within. Just like the Jedi, they didn't even know it was happening. Except for maybe him. And Cody had no idea what to do about it.

This was supposed to be a simple, practice run out to Spindrift Station and back to Daluuj, an exercise for the shuttle crew before they were shipped out to Kuat for transfer out to their legions; it was meant to be a lesson on proper conduct for commanding officers for the remaining eight clones on board, all meant for leadership positions. His cadets. His _students_.

Another corner and then down another set of steps, this time a wide set of sweeping, broad ones that descended gracefully, carved out of some expensive looking, glittering rock. From below, the steps probably glistened in the sunlight, glittering brightly. Cody streaked across them, moving north and down, down, hitting a mid-level and then tearing across a wide plaza, trying to avoid slamming into any more beings as he ran.

He wished he had more names for them. He opened a comm line and barked, "1156, what is your situation?"

The other end of the line crackled to life. "We're up the street, sir!" 1156's voice was tremulous, uncertain. "The thing…thing didn't follow, sir!"

Cody bit back a curse at the thought of any clone trooper turning tail and running. Damn little children! Little boys who spooked at the first thing they didn't understand couldn't lead anyone to anything but a slaughter. They were all going to be killed, no matter how much information he stuffed into their heads. He didn't even know what exactly scared them so much; just that there was screaming, the sound of weapons fire, calls for help, and the pilot calling for him, for a retreat.

That was just over eight minutes ago now. At least 1156 wasn't screaming in panic this time.

"Sitrep, 1156," he snapped, heading down another narrow flight of steps and pushing past a pair of Rodian teenagers who decided to meander down them too slowly. One of them swore at him as his friend bounced off a cobblestone fence and tripped over his feet, falling to the ground with a yelp. The red dots that signified his team were beginning to converge, all heading north by northwest. Just over five minutes until rendezvous. He pounded down the stairs. "Try to explain what you saw."

There was a gulping noise as 1156 began. "Sir, I've never seen anything like it. Came up out of the controls! Screaming and wailing! Tried to grab me, and 1427 tried to shoot it, and it should have hit, but it didn't! Went right through! Ricocheted off the wall and right back into 1427! He's bleeding, sir, I dragged him out while that thing came after me, then it disappeared – then there were more shots from the engineering bay; I got 1427 out, but then that thing showed up again outside. I opened fire, and the others got out and started firing too, but the noise, sir! So loud…we opened fire, tried to shoot it down, but nothing hurt it, and it just kept coming, and coming…" 1156's voice, shaky but holding at first, escalated the longer he spoke, alarm creeping in and taking hold. "2023 called for a retreat when I called you!"

Little boys. Little boys, all scared. Two years old and not knowing what to do when something unexpected appeared and terrorized them, and they reacted just like two year olds. Human two year olds. They ran, screaming for their big brother to save them, because there was apparently some sort of monster coming out of the closet. They were only two – _two_! Children in men's bodies, not even teenagers in men's bodies. They were human, despite being clones that were programmed so much like droids. How could he blame them for being afraid of what they didn't understand? They did what they were trained to do when they were antagonized – they opened fire. When that didn't work, they panicked.

So human.

Sending them back in would only terrorize them. They needed to regroup. Two minutes til arrival. "1156, stay where you are, repeat, stay where you are. Arm yourself and the others. We have a primary objective. Focus on the Jedi. Prepare for hard contact."

There was ragged breathing on the other end of the line. 1156 didn't dare ignore a direct order, but there was fear there. Fear of whatever that monster in the dark was. Some sort of trick? Cody didn't know. But it was odd that it would happen just as their target was trying to escape. Sowing confusion on the battlefield was a tactic of diversion. Someone was trying to get them running scared, and help the Jedi in the process. An accomplice? But who, and what? For all their powers, Jedi weren't blaster proof, nor could they pop out of navigation consoles.

Cody broke past the mouth of a shopping arcade, his helmet speakers blaring, "Move, move, move!" while he hefted his blaster upward. There were a series of shrieks and a scattering of the tide of beings milling around the entrance of the mall, the scent of frying food pungent in the air. His armor, at least, let him clear the way quickly; no one wanted to get on the wrong end of an Imperial stormtrooper, especially not one in a hurry.

The mercantile district began to fall away behind him, the roads widening to permit larger speeder trucks to ramble through to the shopping district, making deliveries of textiles, foodstuffs, and other goods. On his display, the red dots representing his men were continuing to converge on the landing bays; he couldn't let that happen. Not just yet. Not with some bizarre unknown factor lurking around. There would be no panicking this time, no screaming little boys running in fear. He'd go in first, just like a big brother should, to chase away whatever monster was lurking in the dark.

It was too much coincidence; the mysterious monster was working with the Jedi, somehow. She was heading for the docks, just as his men were being scared away from their ship. It was an insane plan, if he was right, but there was too much convergence going on – he had a hunch that Jedi was headed, not just for any ship, but for _his_ ship. His _Imperial_ ship. She wasn't just planning an escape, she was planning on giving the Empire the finger in the process. She had guts, whoever she was.

He opened a broad channel to his group as the red dots that represented his men drew closer. His breath was ragged from the run and he struggled to steady it. "1156, stay with 1427, position yourselves to cover the street. The rest of you, rendezvous on the southeast side of the street, fifty meters up from where we're docked." There was a moment where he half hoped someone would make a comment, any kind of comment, about what he was telling them to do – a quip about coming back to where they started, someone figuring out what he had and swearing once into the open comm channel – but there was only silence and the sound of breathing, and he knew they were merely obeying his commands without question. It was always that way.

The wall that surrounded the docking platform pulled into view, with a small, mixed crowd of Bothans and humans storming out from the platform's entrance, the Bothan in the lead swearing most colorfully as he stormed up off the street. Cody paused; a year ago, someone would have asked permission to stop the group, question them, get information.

Today, there was silence. No one took the initiative. They waited for orders.

Estimated time until the rest of his group's arrival: thirty seconds. The red dots on his display were merging, forming clusters. Ten seconds, he'd be across the street. Fifteen, he'd be at the entrance. Twenty, he'd give the order to fall in behind him. Thirty, he'd be in a firefight with his men at his back, pouring in through the entrance. She would stand in the middle with room to move, to spin and twirl and wield her lighsaber with deadly accuracy, returning their fire to them with precision. This was no frightened child-Padawan, to be jumping off cliffs and trying to steal their own ship from them. He would not be leaving with all of his men. Possibly none of them, if she was good enough, fast enough, strong enough. She had chosen her ground for battle. She already had the upper hand. There was only one way in, and she would be controlling it.

Seconds passed; the Bothans and humans passed further up the street. More seconds, and he was crossing the street, the entranceway looming large before him. A few more, and he could see his men running towards him, from either side of the street, blasters poised and ready. It would be the first real battle they'd seen.

Ten seconds, and they would be there. Just a few heartbeats. He stepped forward into the entrance, and in a blink, took in the scene.

Two droids were hovering on repulsors above a mess of white chemical foam; the place was coated, the ships dripping in fire suppressant. The emergency response droids were cheerfully spraying away, two blasts of foam shooting out of each of them as they enthusiastically put out the now-dead fires. Something must have caught when his men opened fire on the monster in the dark.

There was no monster. Only the Jedi. She stood in the center of the ring, her back to him. She had dark hair.

Eight seconds. He could hear the sound of pounding footsteps on pavement.

A Jedi. The first he'd seen since Kenobi on Utapau. His hands tightened on his blaster. He was an Imperial stormtrooper. He had men behind him, men who relied on him. He shouldn't feel resistant. Shouldn't feel doubt. He should be more like his men, his little two year old boys, full of certainty and absolutism. He shouldn't think things like _run_, at the Jedi's back, shouldn't want her to escape. She was going to kill him in a minute. Kill him and his men to save herself, and that was as it should be, because a stormtrooper was meant to be a predator to a Jedi, and she had a right to defend herself, even if she was supposed to be prey.

Five seconds. A glance in either direction showed his men only meters away.

He had to act. He moved forward, aiming for the center of her back. A clean kill. Possibly the best shot they would have. She was looking away, seemingly distracted. The red bolt of energy slipped out from the muzzle of his blaster, slid across the air, scorching it, closing the space between him and her.

And then it met a blade of blue, singing in the silence of the fighting ring, and he saw her face.

Distantly, he heard the startled shriek of one of the droids, and the spray foam waterfall ceased.

He had not seen her, since she departed the landing bay of the _Vigilance_, just over a year ago. She'd been worried then, not quite frightened, but apprehensive. It was her first solo mission as a Jedi Knight, a mission to the deathtrap known as Felucia. A mission of mercy and of support. She was there to help his brothers. He'd told her to keep up the morale of the men, if she could, since that was all one could really do on Felucia. Continue, and try not to be consumed.

He'd held her hand. Touched her. It was only for a moment.

Two seconds. His comm channel was still open. He said a single word, "Hold," and then ended transmission. He knew they would obey; it was all they ever did.

Barriss Offee was standing before him, her knees bent, her lightsaber lifted into the familiar pose of Soresu, one hand stretched out, lifted in warning to any who would dare to challenge her. She was thin; too thin. Her cheeks were hollow, shadowed, as were her eyes, as though she slept little and ate not enough, pressured onward, running constantly. From him, or men like him. She wore loose clothes of indigo, cut in the flowing style the locals preferred; they hung from her, draping lightly around her narrow frame. Her hair was short, cut unevenly and hanging around her chin as though she had sliced it off quickly with a vibroblade. The smattering of black, diamond tattoos that bridged her nose and cheeks stood out darkly against her pale skin.

Her eyes, though – her eyes were intent, sharp. There was weariness to her, but not desperation. Not despair.

She was alive, and he thought, perhaps, he loved her for it.

He'd held her hand when she needed it. Felt something – he didn't know what he felt, only a strange kind of awareness stirring in his mind. It was a strangely intimate moment, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. A moment of reassurance, of hope, of support. He'd given help and encouragement before, to the men that served under him, but that moment – that very quiet, private moment – it lingered on in his mind afterward. It was only a moment, but he could so easily recall the weight of her hand in his, the feel of the contours of her palm, her fingers, as they slid between his. Her eyes were so wide then, astonished, her lips parted in such a very fascinating way – he'd never seen lips like that before. They were certainly the most perfect lips in the galaxy.

She'd needed him then, and he'd given her the support she needed. It was not the kind of support a clone and a Jedi usually exchanged.

It was only a moment. And then she was startled, and flustered, and her dark eyes no longer met his, and her hand was no longer in his, and her lips were speaking words of propriety and normalcy again, and the moment was gone.

It shouldn't have meant anything to him. It shouldn't have lingered in his mind every day since Utapau, as he followed the order that destroyed her people. It shouldn't be coming back to haunt him now.

She was no traitor. Neither was Kenobi. He was, for following an order that destroyed the Republic. For staying with the Empire, allying himself with the force that murdered the freedom of the galaxy, assassinated its' defenders.

It was then that she began to move. Slowly. Ever so slowly. She straightened, gaining height. Her lightsaber, though lit, lowered, falling to her side.

Her left hand, extended in warning, turned over into invitation.

He stopped breathing.

In the moment of her doubt, he had given her support. In the moment of his, she was offering hers in return. The hand of a Jedi was held out to him, in peace, a stormtrooper of the Galactic Empire.

He'd done as he was told, when the order went out. Followed orders faithfully, obeyed his superiors, acted as a good soldier should.

He'd dreamed, one day, right after Utapau, that Rex had visited him. He'd tried to defend his actions, and found he could not. Rex would never be a traitor, but he'd called it wrong. All wrong. That was the beginning of his doubt.

Somewhere behind him were fourteen men, waiting, waiting, waiting for his orders. Waiting to be told what to do. They'd always been told what to do, what to think, what to feel. Little boys, just two years old, in the bodies of men of twenty. Even if they lived through the battles they would face in the future, that future would be short. They'd age, and age, and age, until they were withered old men at six, seven. The Empire stole their lives before they'd even lived. They were created as disposable people.

Disposable. Just like him. Just like Rex. Just like a million others born on Kamino.

He'd always followed orders. What would happen, if, for once, he didn't?

A slim, olive colored hand was outreached, hanging in the air, waiting for him.

Slowly, his blaster lowered. He straightened, took a single, halting step forward. Barriss watched him, her eyes steady, watchful. Another step, and those eyes widened slightly, some sort of light kindling there. The next step was easier, the one after that, even easier. The sound of his own breathing seemed loud within his helmet, echoing within the little space. Again, a step, and Barriss' indigo eyes were bright, her fingers close and stretching towards him.

He lifted a hand. It seemed heavy, weighted, but he kept it moving, upward, outward, fingers open.

It hovered above hers for a moment, the black glove and white gauntlet hanging in the air above her bare, callused hand.

And then he lowered it, placed his hand in hers, and held on.


	37. Bonus Epilogue 3

_**Author's Note**_: This epilogue makes allusions to _Smile_ ficlet #39, "Traditions 1". It is not necessary to read that to understand this, but it helps to explain the location, why they are there, and Barriss' tattoos.

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><p><em>Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead<em>

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><p>Bonus Epilogue 3:<p>

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><p>In the darkness, she could hear his breath, and feel his pain.<p>

He did not cry; though she did not know him very well, she knew him well enough to know that would be unlike him. But, every once in a while, the blacker bit of darkness that was his form would shudder and shift against the charcoal colored shadows that draped across the rest of the room. Lying in bed, under a blanket pulled up to his chin, he'd twitch, his breath would hitch, and then there would be a long silence before a slow exhale.

He could not sleep. Neither could she. She watched him in the dark, lying on her back, her head turned to the side. If she reached out, her fingertips could just close the gap between their two narrow cots, but they would not quite reach his back, turned towards her.

It had been a very quiet, if very busy, two days. They were hiding now, far up in the wintry northern mountains of Mirial. They could not stay long; perhaps another day, while they made final repairs to the ship they bought on Nar Shaddaa, with creds from the Lambda-class shuttle they stole from the Empire. Ahsoka had been right; they'd gotten a good haul from it, enough to buy the parts they needed. A safe place to install the upgrades, however, was in order, as was a place that could help her to disguise herself more thoroughly.

In the darkness, Barriss reached up and touched her face. It was plain, unmarked. The diamonds of the adamant were there, but hidden, swept under the olive-ink smudges of the Illuminated Woman. The priory itself was much as she remembered it, the day she came with Master Unduli to receive her tattoos. _Diamonds_, the Illuminated Woman told her, as she sketched the shapes onto her nose, her cheeks. _Diamonds_, for someone who was strong. _Diamonds_, for someone who was clear sighted. It was one of Barriss' proudest moments, having those diamonds written on her skin, having the story of her life etched there for all the galaxy to see, for any Mirialan to look at her and know something of who she was: a strong girl growing into a stronger woman, who looked at the world clearly and sought to share her strength.

Now, just like her tattoos, she needed to remain hidden. Her face was blank, the skin unmarked for any who did not look very, very closely. Barriss did not know how long the Illuminated Woman had been drawing stories onto the skin of acolytes, but she had run the priory for nearly fifty years, and was lined by age as much as ink. Though Barriss had met her only once, the old woman welcomed her on the steps of the priory, open armed and smiling, but not without concern in her pale eyes. Barriss would not place the priory in danger any longer than necessary. Tomorrow evening, or perhaps the next morning, she would leave, and Cody with her.

He shifted in the darkness, pulling the blanket further up towards his chin. He would not complain of course; it was not the nature of a clone trooper, much less one such as Cody. Still, the air was cold, and she could just barely make out faint puffs of her own breath in the air before her mouth, before it dissipated into the dark. Winter on Mirial was always harsh, and the priory was ascetic. Luxuries such as heaters in the rooms were considered just that – luxuries. It was winter. One was meant to be cold.

She smiled faintly in the dark, and watched the mass of him shiver once, then hunker down again. Even with the curtains drawn, a little bit of moonlight made it into the room. Her smile faded. He was hurting. It did not take a Jedi to know of his distress. For those first few minutes as they lifted up from the surface in their stolen shuttle, his men on the ground gaping up at the ship in disbelief, he'd emanated a sense of euphoria, a heady dizziness coupled with shock and incredulity. But as the hours passed into days, those feelings faded into something more pained. Guilt. Distress. Worry. More guilt. The feelings coiled close to him, tensing like chains of durasteel, tightening every time he was given more than a few minutes to think.

Night, it seemed, was the worst. They'd retired to their cots an hour ago, and that increasing tension continued to grow, urged on by the darkness and an unquiet mind. The pain was not merely emotional, but physical, swelling from his aching chest, over his shoulders, up his neck and into his head, where a pounding was beginning, a steady thrum underpinned with a ringing, caused by the constriction of the trapezius and levator scapula muscles that lined the back of his neck. He was giving himself a migraine.

Barriss closed her eyes. She felt no regret from him. Loss, yes. Guilt – depths of guilt – but no remorse. Not on the surface, at least, and she would not delve further without his knowledge or permission. He did not regret leaving with her. But he did, perhaps, feel guilt for doing so. For leaving his men behind. Loss, for…well, for everything, she suspected. For everything he'd known. Maybe the Republic itself. She could speculate all she wanted, but she would need to talk to him, and soon. He'd thrown in his lot with her, a fugitive.

Aside from visits from Ahsoka and Rex, he was the first person in months she'd spent any time with. Ahsoka and Rex were gone now, giving them some time to run, to adjust, before they popped back into existence again and likely scared Cody half to death. She'd probably see them again in a few days, once they were away from the priory.

She closed her eyes. The pain in Cody's head was building, starting to take on a laserlike quality – pointed and hot. He shifted in the dark, the only sign of his discomfort.

Were it daytime, she would ask one of the priory's acolytes for medication for him. Now, though…she breathed out, slowly, feeling her exhalation pass her lips. It was not merely drugs that he needed. A stormtrooper who turned from the Empire. No, it was not medication he needed. Still, should Ahsoka ever hear of the idea she was about to enact, she would never live it down.

Barriss turned back the blanket and shivered as the cold air of the room was no longer warded off by the coverings of her cot. She sat up and placed her feet on the floor; even with thick, knitted socks, she could still feel the chill of the stones beneath her. She stood only halfway, leaning over, and said, quietly, "Cody." Her hand hovered in the air above his shape, not touching.

He started, and the sound of shifting blankets filled the room. "Gener-" he began, then halted, and tried again. "Knight –" another pause, and she imagined him grimacing. The pause lengthened and he finally managed, "Offee."

He couldn't see her face, and she was glad. Her smile became a little wry. He couldn't seem to bring himself to be entirely familiar with her. "Your head is hurting rather badly. It will be a migraine soon."

Silence, save for breathing. Then, the expected response. "I'm fine."

Another pause. Barriss lightly placed her hand on what she supposed to be his arm, under the blanket. "I can ease the pain."

She could feel, faintly, his breath on her face, though she could not see his. One, two, three long breaths, and then: "Okay."

Looking away from him, she turned her head aside, glad he could not see the warmth growing in her cheeks. Slowly, she lifted the edge of his blanket. There was a sudden bolt of surprise from him, a stiffening of his body accompanied by a wincing, but there was also silence and a lack of protest. She slid in behind him, his back still towards her, only an inch away. She resettled the blanket over her, feeling the increased warmth of the cot from her own. Cody may be cold, but with two in the cot, there would be plenty of heat. She lay down, her head off the pillow and her right arm tucked tightly against her, her left free to move. He wasn't breathing; there was no rise and fall to his back, no sound of breath from his mouth. She struggled to keep her breathing even, steady. She did not quite come in contact with him. There was a tiny bit of space between them, just enough for her to feel the radiation of warmth from his body.

Intimate. Far more intimate than a holding of hands. She paused, steadied herself. Then she lifted her left hand and moved it upward, seeking out his forehead, the pinprick that was the locus of his pain. She would begin there, work outward from the most concentrated spot.

She placed her hand on his forehead, feeling the prickly brush of eyebrows under her pinky, and the beginning of an expanse of softer hair along her thumb. Her fingertips brushed the thick, knotted skin of the scar that ran along his temple and down past his eye. For several seconds, she kept her arm lifted, elbow sticking into the air at an awkward angle, and then relaxed it, letting it settle slowly downward until it was draping over his side. Barriss closed her eyes for a moment, breathing shallow. She could sense that he'd begun to breathe again, albeit somewhat sporadically. For the moment, it seemed, she'd startled him out of his shroud of guilt, and there was a lack of any kind of feeling from him, so taken aback by her action.

Again, she closed her eyes, and began to focus. The intimacy of their position did not matter; only the pain, and the relieving of it. There was a spot of compression between his brows and slightly upward, and she began there, applying the slightest pressure to the knot and feeling it unravel. Cody's breath hitched, and he twitched before growing still. Barriss followed the spiral of coiled energy that was expanding out from that spot and traced it, finding knot after knot, snarl after snarl, and leaned into them, releasing each cluster of bunched up muscular tissue before moving to the next.

He began to relax. She had no awareness of time, subsumed in her work, but somewhere around the place where the trapezius met the base of his skull, he began, ever so slowly, to melt backwards into her, until she could feel his back pressing against her chest. He was warm, and heavy, and dense with muscle; for a moment, she lost concentration and could only feel his weight pressing against her and the smell of whatever soap it was he used to shower with before sleep. Though it was only a shadow in the night, she could feel the curve of his neck close by, feel his short hair brushing against her forehead. His neck was bare skin, uncovered by pajamas, and there was warmth coming from that, as well.

He was a mess of emotions, dazed contentedness tinged by guilt and marbled through with disbelief. His breaths were uneven, and, lying against her, she could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the expansion of his back, as he took in air and then expelled it.

Trapezius muscle. Base of the skull. She felt a little heady - not dizzy, but heavy somehow, as though she'd drunken alcohol and was now trying to sleep, her body weighted and her head full. She worked down the trapezius' superior region. His arm, beneath the blanket and beneath hers, twinged. She chased out another pucker of muscle and tension, ran the flow of healing Force down the muscles in effleurage, which elicited a cut-off groan. She repeated the stroke of muscle down his right side, this time eliciting a sharp intake of breath, then a shudder of further relaxation.

The pain was ending. At least, the physical pain. She ran her mind along his muscles, seeking out sources of tension, of pain, and found none remaining. There was still tension in him, but it was not tensing in his muscles, not building into a crescendo in his head.

He was taller than her, and his shoulders were broad. As he had eased backward, she'd found herself tucked into a small space between his shoulder blades, and it was a small motion to tilt her head forward and place a brow against his spine. He was warm. They were pressed together now, her body half curled around his, her chest against his back, her belly against the small of his back, the front of her thighs against the back of his. She could feel the bony knobs of his ankles against her toes.

Her face along his spine, she could feel his breathing very easily. If she listened closely enough, she could hear a heartbeat. She let her hand slide from his forehead, leaving it hanging uncertainly from her wrist, her forearm propped against his shoulder.

He stirred, moving beneath the blanket, and reached up; his larger hand enveloped her smaller one, tugged it downward. His hand kept shifting, his fingers brushing hers, tangling with them, releasing them, then grasping again. Then, suddenly, his grip was firm almost to the point of being too hard, and Barriss grimaced as he clutched her hand.

She could feel breath on her fingers, feel the expansion and retraction of his chest as he breathed, struggled with something, then said, roughly, "I'm sorry."

Laying in the dark, pressed against him, she wondered why. The apology was not said with such difficulty because he inconvenienced her with his headache. There were different possibilities. He was a stormtrooper, a killer of Jedi. He was a clone commander, pledged to support the Jedi he betrayed. He was an obedient soldier, who followed an order that should never have been commanded. He was pledged to defend the Republic, and yet turned, like all the others, into the Empire. It could be any one of these things, stuck in his head. Or perhaps the apology was for all of those reasons.

There was so much darkness in the galaxy, now. Reaching out into it brought suffering and pain down onto her, as well. There was such an aching maw of emptiness, loneliness, death, stretching out between the stars. So much so that it was at times hard to remember there were stars. Aside from the visitations of ghosts, she had seen no one from her former life as a Jedi until she faced Cody amid that ring of ships, and he took her hand, and left that darkness behind him. If only the whole of the galaxy could do such a thing – leave behind the dark.

He took her hand. It was the first time in so many months that she felt hope.

She felt herself smile, though it was a pained one. Lying like this, warm and alive in the night, she did not feel so alone. Order 66 was a horror. A horror for her, and, she suspected, it had become one for Cody. Were there others out there, like him? Doubting who and what they were, because they were human and sentient and more than the sum of their training? There had once been so many good men in the 41st.

It would not be so easy, to lie like this, pressed against him, if he had succeeded in killing Master Kenobi. It would not be so easy, to reach out to him and offer friendship, if he had willingly accepted the word of the Empire. If he really had become a stormtrooper. But he had not killed Master Kenobi, nor had he taken the Empire to heart.

It made it easier to say, "I forgive you," into the quiet of the dark room.

Again, he seemed to stop breathing. Then, the crushing grip on her hand eased, and she twined her fingers in his before they slipped away. A pause, then he tugged her arm down a little, tucking her hand against his chest. He began to wriggle, and Barriss blinked, startled and flushing, as he squirmed against her, certain backside parts of him rubbing into her in terribly inappropriate ways, until she realized he was simply trying to pull the blanket up over her arm as well, without releasing her hand. "Oh," she murmured, helping by angling her left shoulder so that it slipped under the edge of the blanket, and Cody was able to tug it up over her as well. The blanket reached her neck, and he grew still.

One of her feet was tucked between his ankles. The pressing of bodies had, sometime in the last few minutes, become more of an embrace. She rested her forehead against his back, just between the shoulder blades, and felt her lashes sweep across the fabric of his sleeping clothes. It was really very warm like this; certainly too warm for her breath to be visible in the cold air.

"Thank you," she said softly.

"You're welcome," he returned. His thumb brushed across the soft skin inside her wrist.

Barriss shivered at the touch. "Still cold?" he asked, and she shook her head vigorously, no.

It was unsettling, the closeness. But it was good, too. This was no mere touching of hands in a moment of stress, doubt, fear. They were wrapped around each other, and, she knew, moments away from sleeping together for the night. She was still a Jedi, if a solitary one. She was supposed to follow the code, not permit herself bonds of the kind she was starting to forge with Cody, here in the seclusion of the dark.

Cody's breathing steadied, deepened, lengthened. His body eased. One of his legs gave a vigorous twitch, then stilled.

Her hand was in his. She moved her thumb, sliding it against the soft flesh of his palm. It was against the rules, all the rules, but those were the rules of the old Jedi Order of the Republic. Those rules could no longer be as they were; attachments, bonds, friendships, alliances – they would have to be made to survive the dark times. There could be no asceticism for her now. There could be none of the coldness of being on her own.

She could not survive alone. Nor could he.

So she closed her eyes, rested against him, and was content.

* * *

><p>And so concludes the CodyBarriss arc of the epilogues. I can't seem to resist writing the two of them together. So fanon, but they mesh so well….

~Queen


	38. Bonus Epilogue 4

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>Bonus Epilogue 4.<p>

* * *

><p>"The Hutt's trying to stall us."<p>

There was a snort of agreement on the other end of the open comm channel – Chopper, Tup decided – and then Gus' voice cut in, annoyed. "Tup's right. Slug's trying to get out of paying us. Keep an eye out."

Tup didn't need to move to take a look around the warehouse. The HUD in his helmet wasn't as elaborate or filled with upgrades as the one that had once been inside his clone trooper bucket, but it served – and it had wraparound vision. His eyes slid to the left, and the cameras slid obediently along the track of his eyes, scoping out the sights well outside of his peripherals. The catwalk along the western wall now had a single man standing just to the right of what remained of a crane. The crane's boom, latticed rather than solid, provided just enough cover to make a shot at him difficult. The Rodian was not yet poised for shooting, but there was a blaster rifle in his hands, and he was casually surveying the floor below. Two more men, another Rodian and a Twi'lek, had slipped in from the eastern doorway, quietly taking up posts along the exit.

"Chopper," Gus said, his voice low though no one outside of their comm channel could hear, "You keeping the engine warm for us?"

Chopper gave a single, abrasive chuckle. It wasn't hard to imagine a smirk quirking one side of his mouth, wrinkling the faded scars on his cheek. "And the Plasbursts. Just say the word."

The last thing they needed was Chopper getting trigger happy on a Hutt gang, much less setting a dockside on fire. Still, it was increasingly looking like they were about to get double crossed. Krething Hutts. Tup kept his shoulders relaxed, spine straight and posture at ease, though he silently rolled forward on his feet, shifting his weight for faster response time if he had to make a run towards Jesse, at the front of their little triangle and having to deal with Jeeba directly.

Tup was glad. Jeeba was annoying. She usually paid well, though. Usually. Pity this was about to devolve into a firefight. Gus was standing to Tup's left, making his own subtle preparations, shifting his weight backward and stretching out a kink in his neck as he tilted his blaster upward a few more inches. His helmet was tilted down, casually, as though he weren't really paying much attention to Jesse or the melodramatic Hutt in front of them. He angled himself towards the side exit, where the Rodian and the Twi'lek were. They were trying to catch the three clones in a crossfire. Wouldn't be that easy, though. Gus would take those two, he had the would-be sniper on the catwalk.

The south exit was still open. Having Chopper and their rather menacing interceptor looming over it must be dissuading them from getting too close – either that or they were planning to herd the three of them out that way – but that was unlikely, due to Chopper and the ship. The light freighter was rigged out as an interceptor, and with the modifications the four of them had made, there wasn't much a little gang like Jeeba's would have to fight it off with. Especially not with a pissed off Chopper at the helm.

"But I wanted him alive!" Jeeba was moaning, her stubby, jewelry laden arms waving in the air and clutching at her – cheeks? Or was that a chin? Tup wrinkled his nose. Some body part that was roughly on her head was getting grasped in theatric agony, anyway. "Oh, my poor darling!"

Jesse's voice was crisp, and clearly running out of patience. "The reward said dead." The imagecaster, with the glowing, fallen image of one of Jeeba's former lackeys, winked out as Jesse clipped it back onto his belt. "You reneging on the contract, Jeeba?"

The Hutt moaned again, writhing backward as she clutched her head. Bracelets jangled up her arms and a gaudy, fist-sized faux ruby glittered at her puce-colored throat, the chain overwhelmed by the rolls of her flesh. "You killed him!" she shrieked, green eyes rolling up in her head, and that seemed to be the cue the others were waiting for, as Jeeba flung her hands in the air and began screaming.

The first shot was towards Jesse, at the forefront of their little group; Jesse though, was already moving backwards from Jeeba's arm waving, and though there was a startled yelp as a green streak of plasma burned the air an inch from his chest, it didn't hit. Instead, it tore through the air with a scent of ozone and fire, and slammed into the far wall of the warehouse. Jeeba's histrionic screeching accompanied the sudden shouting of her men – two behind her, the rifleman on the catwalk, and the two at the eastern exit – and the discharge of blasters.

Tup moved forward, twisting to the left and bringing his blaster to bear. He'd never been a sniper in the GAR – but his aim was slightly above average for a clone, and that meant he was likely several times better than whatever scum Jeeba had scrounged up locally. Still, no chances. He moved quickly. A blue blast, then another, charred the air in front of him as Gus' shots flew outward; further shots he could just see out of the corner of his eye. As Tup moved forward to take his shot at the Rodian hiding behind the crane's boom, Gus dropped to a knee and continued fire at the two door guards.

The Rodian's alignment was wrong, for shooting him and Gus. A little too far forward. He was prioritizing Jeeba, and with Jesse still closest, that meant Jesse was the first target. Tup grit his teeth and fired; the shot, had it been fully clear, would have hit the Rodian sniper full in the chest, but instead it dinged off the latticework, reducing the metal scrolling to slag. Still, it bought a moment, the Rodian flinching back and twisting aside as the shot slammed into the boom, frighteningly close to his face. Jesse rolled to the side, blaster coming up as his head swung around, back to Tup's as he opened fire on Jeeba's two bodyguards. She let out a gargling shriek as one of them was flung off his feet by a Jesse's second shot.

The Rodian had recovered; Gus was swearing virulently over the comm channel, and he could hear Jesse's heavy breathing, faint grunts as his blaster recoiled into his shoulder. The room was filling with the smell of char, smoke and blood. The air filters on his current bucket weren't nearly as good as they were before. Tup grimaced, ignored Gus' shouting, and fired again just as the Rodian took aim.

This time, the latticework didn't get in the way. Tup jerked aside just as a green shot sizzled towards him, streaking through the space he was still vacating and racing down his calf armor and boot, singeing the armor and melting the boot; Tup got a whiff of melted plastoid just as he felt the burning sensation slice down his ankle and outer edge of his foot.

Still, the Rodian was the one down, and Tup watched as his arms flailed, his right one flopping over the edge of the catwalk and releasing his blaster to drop below.

Another shout from Gus, this time accompanied by a shout from Jesse; Tup spun, feeling his leg spasm from the sudden twist after injury, but he moved through it.

He made it around just in time to see the Twi'lek dropping a Force pike down on him, the tip crackling with blue energy.

* * *

><p>It was peaceful.<p>

It was also a place he'd seen plenty of times, in one shape or another. Sometimes it was a beach, with turquoise water turning to white foam on a sandy shore. Sometimes it was a mountain side, high above lavender clouds, the sky turning red from sunset. Sometimes it was as it was this time, a wide, open plain filled with tall green grass, waving in the wind. The sky was blue and high above, cloudless.

There was never a horizon. It always tapered off and grew blurry before the land met the sky. It was nice though, calm.

"Well, at least I'm not dead," he said with a sigh towards the blank blue sky, and propped himself up on his elbows. You didn't dream when you were dead, especially not of places you wanted to go, even if they were somewhat generic and fuzzy on the edges.

"No, you're not," came the reply, and Tup turned his head to see the Captain sitting about a meter away, in full armor though with his bucket sitting on the grass beside him. "Got hit with that Force pike pretty hard though. Jesse got him for you."

Tup shrugged. That's what brothers did. If he'd missed the Rodian, Jesse would probably have a hole in his head by now. "I'm in the med pod?"

"Yeah. Been about six hours. You won't be contracting with Jeeba again."

"Dead?"

The Captain shook his head, looking skyward. "No, but she got her tail burned. Been wailing about her beauty being tarnished. You four better keep an eye out for bounties on you."

Tup sighed. Wonderful. It was their first as a team, though if anyone figured out they were clones, there'd be Imperial bounties on their heads instead, and those would be considerably more profitable. He lay back down, looking at the blades of grass curling in around him and the blue expanse of sky beyond. They kept their helmets on, and not just when doing business. They didn't opt for the Mando look, though it was tempting – that particular brand of armor came with its' own warning – but the four clones knew little of Mandalorian culture, outside of the occasional cuss and a few lines from _Vode An_. Fighting was another thing they knew, and taking up as a band of roving mercenaries and bounty hunters for hire was their best fit for a post-GAR career choice.

Sixteen months of scraping by. It wasn't all bad – they went where they wanted, turned down jobs that seemed sketchy, got to eat better food than in the GAR on occasion – but Tup hated it. Hated always running, looking over his shoulder, never knowing when or how it would end. Fearing capture. Fearing recognition. Being caught in the same sort of violent loop as in the GAR with no way out of it. He was good at soldiering because it was all he'd ever known, all he'd ever expected to do. But sixteen months of seeing the galaxy – there was so much _more_ out there. There were other options, beside fighting and killing for a living.

He just had no idea how to grasp them.

"What it like, Captain? Not having to fight all the time?"

The Captain turned his head towards him, looking slightly surprised. His brows were lifted. "Tired?"

Tup kept his eyes on the sky, an expanse of perfect blue. "Too tired."

The Captain paused for a long moment, and though the grass rippled in the wind, there was no sound. At length, the Captain said, "It's different. Quieter. But I'm not the best one to ask about settling down."

Of course not. The Captain and the Commander still popped up at times, checking up on them, giving them tips and advice and information. Helping them stay one step ahead of the Empire. They were still fighting, in their own, ghostly sort of way.

"You want to stop fighting, Tup?"

Tup frowned up at the sky. "I'm no coward."

A chuckle made him turn his head towards the Captain, who had a small smile on his lips as he looked into the blurry distance. "No one said you were, Tup."

The sky rippled, and the tips of the grass began to blur. Tup said aloud, "I'm waking up," but there was no response; the Captain was gone, and the haze of the horizon was drawing closer, until it turned into the harsh light of the overhead lamps in the medical pod.

* * *

><p>Jazz hummed through the air. A quartet of Bith musicians were in one corner of the cantina, rocking back and forth as they blew, strummed, or pounded on their instruments, respectively. Leaning against the back wall, a chest-height round table in front of him with a solitary drink, Tup tapped his foot against the floor, keeping time to the rhythm. The music snaked through the room, slipping between a group of tipsy Sullustans before winding its way past a pair of Devaronians playing sabacc against a Toydarian. On a precariously narrow stage, a Twi'lek in diaphanous silks swung around a pole, her lekku flying around her as her hips swayed to the music and a mixed group of men at nearby tables salivated.<p>

For a moment, Tup closed his eyes. Everything was peaceful; or as peaceful as such a place could be. The music played. The smell of alcohol hung in the air, pungent, sharp, sweet, becoming cloying as it mixed with the stink of the sweat, hormones and grime of a dozen different species. The Bith musicians paused, and there was a breath of quiet, where all the sound was the clinking of glasses and the mindless mumble of voices. Then the music returned, lively and bright, bringing some spark to the otherwise dingy room.

Tup's foot tapped on the floor, sticking a little bit each time it touched. Someone had spilled liquor here not long before Tup had taken up his vigil. He folded his arms across his chest and tilted his head to the left, towards the dancer spinning on her pole, while his helmet's screen swept to the right, towards Gus in an alcove with two Dugs. It was either Gus or Jesse who handled face to face transactions. Tup had discovered he had no taste for belligerent clients, never quite knowing when to push back or how. Chopper had the opposite problem; he had no difficulty haggling, but would often be too blunt, too rude, and they'd found themselves separating Chopper from a potential customer twice before he'd been disbarred from representing their little group of mercenaries.

Gus was handling things today. The Dugs looked upset, pounding their feet onto the table and turning in towards each other to argue. Still, the anger appeared to be of a more general sort, and not directed at Gus, sitting casually across from them with his hand near his blaster, but not tensed for shooting. It was a good sign, really. The Dugs clearly were in need of something and were upset about it – the greater their need, the greater their hunger for what they needed, the more Gus would be able to wring out of them. Their ship could use some new power couplings and a thorough check of the hyperdrive, by a real mechanic. A few weeks of food would also be in order, and not just protein bars and dehydrated nutrient cubes. Salads. Pastas. Steaks. Sweets. Real food. Tup's belly gurgled at the thought, his mouth watering slightly.

Gus leaned forward slightly, an arm coming out to lie casually on the table, and he waved a hand easily. The Dugs quieted, heads drawing closer to Gus' as they listening to whatever it was he was saying to secure the job.

Tup heard the fight before he saw it, taking a moment to watch Gus' dealing with the Dugs. The sound of a table crashing to the floor drew his attention, along with everyone else's, towards the pair of Devaronians and the Toydarian, who had, a moment ago, been playing sabacc. Glass shattered and the Toydarian's wings were up and out, humming as they rapidly beat the air. "Cheaters!" he shouted, a three fingered hand reaching for the holster at his potbellied waist.

But the Devaronians were already moving. One was laughing, his long tongue curling out of his mouth to taste the air, while his friend slid forward, not with a blaster, but with a vibroblade, flat along the palm of his hand. It pierced into the Toydarian's small chest with a vaguely wet, crunching noise, breaking bone and sinking into vital organs. With a gurgle and a yelp, the Toydarian's blaster shot fired wide and high, thudding into the ceiling and taking out a light as he fell to the floor, the Devaronian still on top of him.

There was a caesura in the music, a pause for breath in the dozen conversations. The dancer on the stage stilled, her eyes wide and her lekku trailing over her shoulders.

The Devaronian stood up. Flicked his wrist and sent droplets of blood splattering to the floor. He sheathed his blade on his left forearm, then looked around at the wide eyes watching him.

He grinned.

The caesura ended. Music began again. The murmur of conversation struck back up. The dancer tossed her head back and continued to dance.

It was not the first time there was a death in the middle of the cantina, after all.

The Devaronian flipped a coin towards the disgruntled looking barkeeper, who jerked his head towards the droid beside him. The droid backed out of the bar, wheeled over to the corpse, and hauled it up. It then headed towards the back, and, presumably, the exit.

The entire scene took less than thirty seconds.

"It's settled. Ready to go, Tup?" Gus' voice asked over the comm. Tup looked around the room, stopping for a moment on the pair of Devaronians pushing their way towards the bar and a less messy area. The overturned table, glass, alcohol, cards, and green blood lay splattered across the floor, seemingly forgotten.

Nobody except for him seemed to be concerned at all.

Tup looked away from the mess, and said, "Yeah, Gus. I'm ready to go."

* * *

><p>"I saw a man murdered today, and nobody cared."<p>

It was night on the plain this time, and there were two gibbous moons hanging heavy in the black sky above. The horizon was still far in the distance, vague and blotchy where the seam of the sky met the weft of the land. The grass was green, bordering on golden brown in the moonlight, stirring faintly in the wind. Seed pods were forming on the tips of each frond, young yet with electric yellow buds. The heavier, more mature stalks bobbled in the light breeze. Not grass, then. A type of grass, maybe, but more than just grass – some sort of foodstuff: wheat, probably. Propped up on his elbows, his legs stretched out before him, he could see bulbous green trees in lines in the distance. If he was sitting in a wheat field, then the trees were probably planted there deliberately to prevent soil erosion.

"That happens," the Captain said, standing a meter away, his arms folded over his chest. He was in full armor, as always. His helmet was clipped to his belt.

Tup snorted. "It shouldn't."

"No," the Captain agreed. "But it happens."

Tup tilted his head back and looked at the moons. Each one was three-quarters full, convex at the edges as each one ballooned out towards fullness. One was a pinkish-orange. The other greenish-yellow. The greenish one was heavily pockmarked by craters, and shapes and fissures could be seen scrawled over its surface from orbital bombardment. The pinkish one, smaller, had a smooth sea of serenity across most of its landmass, with white curves and crests interrupting its surface.

"This is a real place, you know," the Captain said, and Tup turned his head to look at him again. The Captain was looking out over the sea of grass. It reached his knees. "It's nice. Not for me, but maybe for you."

A week ago, a day ago, he'd have frowned and told the Captain he wasn't leaving the others. He wasn't going to go run off and hide somewhere by himself. He wanted to be with his brothers – not alone in the galaxy – even if it meant continuing on in a cramped little ship with not nearly enough food or energy. Even if it meant fighting on after he was sick of running. Even if it meant staying a mercenary when he was sick of being a soldier, much less one for hire.

Then some unknown Toydarian in a third rate cantina in the middle of nowhere was stabbed in the chest, and nobody cared.

That was what his death was going to look like. His brothers might care. But no one else. He'd either get killed on a mission, caught by the Empire, or stabbed to death in the middle of a cantina while people looked on with only the vaguest of interest.

He didn't want that to be his fate: blasted to bits trying to kill someone for money, tortured to death by the Empire, or tossed in a dumpster by a cantina droid.

Captain Rex was a good man. Honest. Fair. And too kind, looking out for him from beyond the grave.

The scene was infinitely pastoral, a stark contrast to so much of what he'd seen in his life. No stark white halls like Kamino. No grey corridors like those on Republic star destroyers. No grimy landing docks like those on a thousand different worlds. No dirty cantinas where men were murdered and forgotten.

There was sky and stars, moons and trees, grass and wind.

Tup tilted his head to look up at the Captain again. "What are the coordinates?"

* * *

><p>It was warm, on this world.<p>

During the day, as the yellow sun rose into a blue sky, the heat became all encompassing, permeating the air and radiating against his sweaty skin from all directions. The early morning was cooler, thanks to the lack of sunlight, but now, nearing noon, the warmth from the sun poured down from above, and the heat of geothermal venting seemed to creep up his feet from below. His stomach was beginning to ache with hunger, and Tup began to look forward to having another packet of rations for lunch. The nearest grove of bulbous, ash-green trees was several minutes' walk ahead or to the east; he opted for ahead. Might as well get a little further down the road before he stopped.

The road itself was dirt, pressed flat from the resistance of repulsors; though he hadn't seen any, there must be speeders that came this way now and again, just frequently enough to keep it smooth and clear of debris. Pebbles protruded from the packed, dry earth, and scraggly brown weeds clawed their way out of cracks of dirt. The grass that stretched out on either side of him rolled, sloping away and rolling out over hills in the distance, green and thick, but somewhat faded, as though there had been some mild sort of drought lately, and the grass was struggling to stay alive.

Tup licked his lips and frowned before turning his attention back to the winding road before him. Three hours of walking since the last town. It wasn't so bad, compared to his time in the GAR. His feet didn't hurt, and he wasn't anywhere near dehydrated. But with the pressing, humid warmth from all angles, and the lack of insulating, temperature controlled armor, he was getting a little tired, sagging under the constant heat. A speeder coming along would have been too fortuitous, of course.

He shouldered his backpack and trudged on, ignoring the feeling of soreness in his feet. The Captain was real. A ghost, yes, but real. The Captain wouldn't have sent him out into the middle of nowhere on a backwater world to die. There was something out here; the grass, though browner than it should be, was grazed. Clumps of it were shorter than others, and there was a distinct lack of flowering plants. There were grazers around here. Nerf, probably, though possibly bantha; there was plenty of scrub for either herbivore to eat - not a lot of tracks for bantha though. Nerf. Maybe eopies.

Tup crested a hill, drawing up to a cluster of the scattered, platter branched trees and edging over into the little bit of shade they produced. With the sun now directly overhead, there was little relief from its brightness. He shielded his eyes with a hand and turned, looking out over the hills. He'd reached what must be the upper lip of a grassed over caldera. The land seemed to be shaped like a pair of lopsided rings, their bands pressed and rising against each other. Behind him sprawled a circular caldera, mostly appearing to be pasture. Ahead, though, lay a larger, more manicured, oval shaped basin, with a patchwork of fields checkering it in shades of green, brown, gold, and violet, swaying slightly in the light breeze off the north.

Fields and crops meant farmers. People. Probably those who traveled the dirt road into town often enough to keep it smooth. The coordinates the Captain gave him ended around here, somewhere.

"_You'll know when to stop, Tup_," the Captain said, and when the trooper gave the Captain a skeptical look, the Captain had merely smiled and faded away. "_Keep walking until you know when to stop_."

There was, tucked into the fields and into a dip in the terrain, a set of darker smudges, in a cleared away ring. Compared to the size of the caldera itself, the structures were small, modest even, but likely enough to have residents. Keep walking until you know when to stop. The homestead was probably still a good half hour walk away, possibly a bit more. His stomach rumbled, and he twisted to pull it around himself enough to grab a nutrient bar, before slinging it back around his shoulders. The bar was, as they always were, dry, but mixed with a little water from the canteen on his belt, it was tolerable.

He walked forward. He could take a little break at the homestead, if they'd let him, and hopefully refill his canteen. He was running low on supplies, too - a farm might let him work a couple hours in exchange for a meal, before taking off again. It was cooler walking at night, though not much. He'd be able to check his coordinates more carefully against the stars.

It smelled of young wheat, and overturned earth. Dusty but also clean, the smell of dirt and the plants rising out of it. Not a bad smell. Fresh, in a way recycled starship air never did. This world was harsh in its own ways, but it was a different kind of harshness than what was found in the life of a mercenary for hire. It was less men being cruel to men, and more the difficulty of living on a warm, backwater world.

The wheat gave way to corn, just above knee high. He'd overheard someone in town expressing that as a good thing, this time of year. Something about the amount of growth compared to the number of months it'd been growing. Despite the dryness of the soil, it was prospering. The leaves were just long enough to flop over, though the stalks were still short. The very beginnings of silk were visible within the long leaves, currently more blossom than vegetable. The leaves rustled in the wind, creating a sea of green across the field.

He followed the path down until he reached a gate, and the clearing. To his right was a lumpy, almost boot-shaped house with a porch. To his left, a roundel-shaped barn with the door open; the pungent smells of hay and animal waste emanating from it. The homestead was positioned in a slight dip in the land, and with a smattering of the lumpy-branched trees ringing the area, it felt just a couple of degrees cooler.

It was quiet for a moment, as he paused at the gate. In the stillness, though, he could just hear the sound of an engine, slow and heavy, rumbling nearer. Stepping just inside the gate, he waited, doing his best to appear harmless and perhaps a little lost. Both were true anyway, though the blaster at his hip declared him not entirely without defense, should anyone try to attack him. He wrapped his hands loosely around the straps of his backpack, well away from the blaster and within plain sight.

The grinding, dull drone grew louder, and after a long moment, a bulky green and yellow speeder tractor chugged into view, rounding the back of the barn. A man was perched on the driver's seat, made slightly hazy by the amount of dust the old tractor was kicking up from its' repulsors. Tup straightened as the man twisted in his seat, pulled a lever, and the tractor wheezed to a stop.

The man noticed him, body tilting in his direction for a moment, before he swung down from the driver's seat. He ran a hand across his forehead, then down his face, and flecks of sweat flew off to the ground. He was in dirty, dusty clothes that were probably brown to begin with, but were coated in additional streaks of dirt and grime, smeared a bit with grass. He wore heavy, canvas gloves, which he was pulling off and tucking into pockets in his pants.

There shouldn't be anything familiar about him. Some farmer on a backwater world, in a backwater set of fields. But there was; it was in the set of his shoulders, the spine-straight, chin up, relaxed but wary way he walked. It was in the matching height and matching jaw, and in the matching eyes that Tup knew entirely too well, since, until he left the others, he'd seen every day of his life on other men. He still saw them every chance he looked in a mirror.

The man stopped in front of him. He smiled. His teeth were white against his dust-streaked face and his brown eyes gleamed in the sunlight.

"Been waiting for you the last few days. Tup, right?" He tilted his head, taking in the teardrop shaped tattoo under his right eye. The smile broadened, and the man's hand extended. "The name's Cut."

"_Keep walking until you know when to stop_."

He turned away from the man for a moment, and looked out over the cornfield behind him, the rising slope of the caldera's edge beyond him, then back and at the house, the tractor, the barn, and then again at the man.

It was quiet, save for the sound of animals lowing in the barn, and the wind.

Somewhere, in the middle of that gaze, he'd begun to smile.

Tup lifted a hand and extended it. His hand grasped that of a brother he had never known, but was a brother still.

"That's right. Name's Tup. It's good to meet you, Cut."

It wasn't so hard, to feel like he'd found a home.


	39. Bonus Epilogue 5

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>Bonus Epilogue 5.<p>

* * *

><p>"Walk with me."<p>

Three small words, and they drew his attention. Spoken in such a low, rough contralto, it was hard not to turn his head and look down at the speaker. She was small, but her shoes gave her height; platforms with spiked heels. Standing on her toes like that made her leggy, with slender, muscled calves. Further up were narrow thighs, narrow hips, and a waist so small he wondered, momentarily, if he grasped it, he'd be able to encircle it with his hands. The narrowness continued upward through a sylphlike torso and a petite chest that still managed some swell of cleavage due to the expansive cut of her neckline.

Her face was composed, utterly neutral, just like her words. There was no excitement there, no hope, no coyness. Only a dispassionate request, and a pair of steady, pale green eyes. She was Theelin. Uncommon these days, though maybe not so much in an entertainment district like this one. In the dim light of the growing hours of the morning, it was hard to make out her coloration; the flashing lights of the bars and tapcafs had shut down, and there was only the murk left from the fading moon above and the lights that still flickered from the closing cantinas. Her skin was cream-and-green, he decided. Mottled and a little grey. Three spikes were stacked on her temples, each the length and width of a small finger but far sharper. Lavender-grey hair fell, pin straight, down her back from a high forehead.

She'd been serving drinks in the Spitting Narglatch earlier in the night. The other staff seemed to give her deference for some reason. "The Diva is back," he heard them whispering in hushed, awed tones in the back room, while he affixed his force pike to his hip. Eyes picked her out and lips curved into smiles as the other waitresses, bartenders, and guards spotted her winding her way into the bar for a tray of drinks. There was a thrum of hopeful excitement that faded somehow into disappointment as the evening wore on, and she continued to merely serve drinks and wait tables.

There was no reason the Theelin would come to talk to him.

The sound of a swoop bike gunning roared through the pre-dawn light, attracting both their attention; a ring of men, mostly Weequay but with a couple humans mixed in, laughed uproariously. Most of them were perched upon, or leaning against, tricked out swoops on the other side of the street. The laughter, though, was that of drunk, bored - and apparently armed - men. There were blasters in the holsters at their hips. Drunk, bored and armed; a combination he'd learned that, though indicative of stupidity, also meant potential violence. Roughly half of those drunk, bored, armed men were not watching the idiot in the driver's seat, but rather him, and the Theelin.

She moved, ever so slightly. The bland expression on her face remained, but one of her hands, hanging at her sides, lifted, crossed her waist, and held loosely on to the elbow of the other. Her lavender lips twitched momentarily down and one of her brows twitched momentarily up. It was all the disapproval she expressed. Another ripple of laughter made a round through the group of men, low and unsettling.

He was off the clock. This wasn't his job at the moment, beating gropers off the Narglatch's hostesses – or waitresses, as the case seemed to be here.

Still. Protecting civvies had been drilled into his head since the incubation chamber, and it was against everything he ever learned to just leave her standing there. Stupid Theelin wouldn't even be able run in shoes like that. And outside the safety of the cantinas and their hired muscle, there were worse things than groping that could happen to a pretty humanoid female.

And it'd been awhile since he'd had a proper fight. Busting some heads sounded like a relaxing way to finish the night.

Chopper snorted. "Fine."

She fell into step beside him, those ridiculous shoes clipping sharply against the pavement as they moved along the far side of the street. He scowled down at her feet for a moment, then her face. Still impassive, she continued walking, gaze forward and apparently ignoring him despite that he was doing her a favor. A series of yowls and catcalls went up from the drunken gang now behind them, along with a variety of culture-specific obscene gestures, from butts waggling in the air to twisting fingers jutting skyward accompanied by whistles.

He sent a glare backward, tensing. Kriffing barves. Seeing him turn towards them, the whooping grew louder and more obscene, and he scowled. They were trying to provoke him. D'kuts.

Fingertips brushed briefly past the back of his hand, and he realized they'd stopped. The Theelin spoke, her voice low and her attention still straight ahead, easily ignoring the racket behind them. "Walk with me."

They weren't worth it anyway. Drunkards were no challenge. Gritting his teeth, he turned forward again, and matched his footsteps against the sharp rapping of heels against duracrete. The screaming faded as they rounded a corner and turned right; there was a revving of an engine, and then the blasting sound of repulsors discharging a build-up of ions as the swoop must have lurched into acceleration. There was more shouting, and laughter, but it faded away along with the sound of the swoop.

The gang's rushing off seemed to be the last burst of the night's noise. All that was left was the muted quiet of the hour before dawn. The walkways were packed when he'd arrived for work last night, filled with throngs of the rich seeking cheap entertainment, the masses seeking escape, the drunks seeking more liquor, and the workers seeking enough money to scrape by a little longer. It reeked of sweet, fresh alcohol, stale, old liquor, frying food, sweaty bodies exuding hormones and pheromones, and the rotting, fungal smell of alleys full of garbage. Now, it smelled vaguely of garbage, puke, and the fresh morning air. Droids were buzzing down the walkways, sweeping up one night's refuse for the next.

They turned down another path, and walked. Sentients, mostly women, were meandering the streets, heading in various directions Chopper suspected to be home. The flashing neon lights of the night were off, making what seemed, after nightfall, a carnival, into something remarkably mundane. A dirty street with gaudy, unlit signs. The cantinas grew smaller, sparser, as they left the main strip, and wove their way into the grid of side businesses and apartments.

Streetlamps provided a little extra light. Between each patch they walked through, he got another, clearer look at the Theelin. A long, straight nose. Lidded, narrow eyes, with creases around them that were deeper, more defined than those of most of the waitresses. When the light caught them right, they reflected gold, an indicator, he suspected, of mixed ancestry.

This walk was the most time he'd ever spent alone with a woman. It was strange. Unexciting, too. Somehow, walking an unfamiliar woman home an hour before dawn in awkward silence had never been a part of his imaginings of what spending time alone with a woman would be like.

The clicking sound of her footsteps stilled. Chopper glanced first at her, then up at the bulky, duracrete building she was looking at, looming overhead. It was discolored, streaks of grime running down its' side and turning the structure into a dingy grey. They stood beside a canopied stairwell that curved upward around the building until it reached another level, then another.

"Thank you," said the Theelin, and Chopper frowned, turning back to her. As it has remained their entire walk, her face was impassive, unreadable. There seemed to be no gratitude there, nor relief, or even calculation. She tilted her head slightly, in what was too brief to be a bow, but too slow and formal to be a mere toss of the head. Her eyes sought his, her head tilted so that they met his at a slant. "Rest well for tonight."

Her shoes clicked against the duracrete softly as she walked past him. She smelled slightly of sweet wine, cigarra smoke, and something he suspected was purely feminine - it was fruity, somehow - but couldn't identify. She passed him by in the same silence they shared during their walk away from the cantina. Then she was ascending the first flight of stairs, rounding the corner, and disappearing.

It was not the first time Chopper wished he had one of his brothers with him, to ask them what the kriff just happened.

* * *

><p>It was the sudden hush that warned him something was happening.<p>

If he were in battle, it would have been the silent moment before an attack; when the world nearby suddenly became quiet, breathless, waiting for the first shot to fire, for the first scream, for the first death. Here, though, in a cheap old club, it was unsettling. The Narglatch was always noisy, full of milling sentinents, jazz, the clattering of glasses and the poor attempts of customers to convince the scantily clad hostesses or dancers to go home with them.

The jazz quieted and went silent. The customers looked around, unified in their puzzlement, until they noticed the small stage was clearing of dancers, and the staff was suddenly ignoring them in favor of the empty platform. Chopper frowned, paused in the shadows of the back of the room, and folded his arms across his chest. He waited with the rest of them, though with less curiosity. Clearly there was going to be a special performance of some kind, though why the attentiveness, he didn't know. Dancers regularly pranced around on stage in metal bikinis and glowing body paint and nobody got silent over it. If anything, they got noisier.

The stage was lit up, unfrosted bulbs illuminating the proscenium in stark golden light, and the gaudy detailing of the arch seemed to glow. The rest of the floor, filled with tables, darkened, and hostesses of various species, draped over patrons, began to direct the males' attention forward.

The Theelin stepped out onto the stage, in a slinky black dress. She'd been tarted up for her performance, whatever it would be; there was heavy violet shadow on her eyelids, her cheeks were rouged, and her long lavender hair piled up into some sort of towering monstrosity.

Polite applause rose up from the room, led by the hostesses and wait staff. Chopper gave them all an odd look. They were usually oblivious to the performances, from what he'd seen the last handful of days he'd worked here. They were jaded, the lot of them, earning money by pretending to be interested in the dry lives and dull affairs of the men who patronized the Narglatch. Anticipation was a strange contrast to their usual, falsely flirtatious behavior. It rang with authenticity.

The Theelin began to sing.

He didn't know the words; sung in some language he didn't know, the words themselves didn't seem to matter. They rolled out across the room like a wave, low and deep and building. Her lips, stained a dark burgundy, opened and closed, shaped words and breathed them out, winding across her audience, binding them tighter to the sound of her song. Someone in the audience began to snap her fingers in time, and was joined by another and another; someone in the bar began to pound hands into the bar in steady rhythm. It beat out a steady tattoo against her song. Her voice was like sandpaper, rough and hard; but like sandpaper, it produced a smoothness. Her voice was like smoke and whiskey, rich but with a burn that he suspected would linger long after her song was done. There were inflections in the lyrics, questions and pauses that denoted a wait for answers. Given that she was the only singer, the only answer she received was the steady drumming from her audience. Slow, the song thrummed against the walls, built up some pressure in the room. He could feel it in his gut, in his chest. Even without understanding the words, there was a loneliness to the song, a wistfulness and a wonder and a pain. The pauses, the rising intonations of question, were left unanswered. The Theelin's head was bowed, her eyes lowered and narrow, though they swept across her audience, flashing by each table, further tethering her audience to her and the sound that flowed from her lips in that smoky, succulent contralto.

Her movements were neither wild nor dramatic, but slow and deliberate. But it was an expressive deliberation, so different from the way she spoke the night before, cool and emotionless. Her hands fluttered before her, fingers winding through the air and punctuating the questions her lyrics asked. Her lips curved upward, and united with the hooded gaze of her eyes, she seemed coy, full of promises as much as pain.

For a moment, they met his; just for a moment. Reflecting gold in the light of the stage, they were inhuman, gleaming, entrancing and powerful. Then gone, and onto the next man, and the next, until the song was done and the room strangely silent, the siren's call, ended.

And then it began again, and again, sometimes in Basic, sometimes in languages Chopper neither understood nor recognized, until late in the night or early in the morning. She sang, and the room was still, spellbound by the song of a small Theelin standing alone on a stage except for her music and the harsh illumination of the spotlight.

By the end of the night, he'd learned her name was Noula Vaai. When she stepped up beside him just outside the bar's back door and said, coolly, "Walk with me," he did not question it. There were no thugs hanging around outside the Spitting Narglatch that morning. No reason she would ask him for protection or company. But she did, and after a night of forgetting that he was a fugitive, a clone, a soldier without an army, a man wandering away from his brothers, in a galaxy that was lost deep in the dark, he walked with her.

He understood, now, why the others were eager for her to sing.

She had a voice that made people forget pain.

* * *

><p>It became a tradition. Somehow, she'd be ready after her set at about the same time he'd be done with his portion of locking the Narglatch up, and she'd appear at his side with a simple, "Walk with me."<p>

And he'd walk her home, just as he did now.

His original plan was to get one more paycheck before he wandered down to the spaceport and hopped another ship for another system, but payday came and went, and the days to the next one began to count down. It wasn't that he felt attached to his security job at the Narglatch – or even, really, to Noula Vaai and her voice – but instead to the inclusiveness of it. The hostesses flirted with him a bit, lightly, without seriousness, and thanked him whenever he yanked an overzealous customer off them. The waitresses and cooks gave him a bit of extra food when he took his break in the kitchen and inhaled his meals faster than any of them had ever seen. The big, bulky bouncers gave him respect when he talked. Though he was the 'newest' to security work, he seemed to know more about fighting than the veterans.

Nobody asked him about his scars. Sometimes the women would give him fleeting looks – not of disgust, but of sympathy. That sympathy didn't last long, though. Within a few days, the staff of the Spitting Narglatch simply accepted him as one of their own. Even in the GAR, he'd been an outsider, deficient and different somehow, in the head, in ways that made him different from his brothers.

Here, no one noticed. Here, no one cared. Here, he suspected, he was among others that were also broken. Or lost. Or different. They were all different; therefore, differences stood out little. Including his.

He wouldn't – couldn't – stay much longer. Not without risking putting them all in danger. The longer he lingered, the more likely someone would spot him, place his face. His scars, he suspected, were actually a benefit. A mask. His face was more contorted than his brothers'. Less recognizable. But sooner or later – someone would wander through. A mercenary out for an evening of drinks and women, probably. Or just someone who'd seen the right bit of news, seen the face of a clone, and was hard up enough to turn him in for their personal profit.

"You didn't sing tonight," he said. The Theelin glanced at him, sideways. They'd had a shorter night than usual, because she hadn't been on stage; it was still dark out, with only the greyest smudge of sunrise beginning to light the sky. They moved between pools of white light spilling onto the ground from streetlamps above. The Theelin's eyes shifted from shadowed green to illuminated gold, then back again as they walked through the puddles of light. Her lips twitched upward momentarily, and she turned her face back forward.

"Shai believes that my voice requires rest every so many nights," she said, referring to the proprietress of the Narglatch. There was a catch, though, in her voice that hinted a humor, and Chopper looked down at her. Her purple lips were still curved slightly upward.

"But it doesn't?"

The lips curved into a more distinctly crescent shape, and he was rewarded with another, narrow eyed glance. "Shai believes so." The golden irises turned moss green again as they exited the circle of the overhead lamp's light, and slid away from him once more. "And I do need rest, on occasion."

Nights when Noula Vaai sang, they were packed. That meant they made the most money. Shai Forta, for all she mothered her girls, was driven by money. She'd have Noula singing all day and night if it meant she would turn a higher profit.

This time, when the Theelin stopped walking, Chopper stopped as well. In the week and a half he'd been walking her home, he'd memorized each route she'd taken them, the alleys and the side streets. It didn't creep up on him, the way it had the first few days. Her dingy concrete building loomed up above them, squat and bleak, lit up from below by the electric white of the streetlights.

The steady clicking of the Theelin's sharp heeled shoes stopped. There was a tradition in this, too. Every night, the same words. "Thank you," followed by "Rest well for tonight."

She was looking up at her apartment building, a frown now twitching on her lips as her head tilted slightly to the side. After a moment, she looked at him, considering, thoughtful, and opened her mouth and drew breath. Words started to come out, but they sputtered and died before they were given sound, and whatever comment she'd been about to make dead before given life. Her brows drew together and she looked away from him again. The cool blankness that was her customary expression resettled across her face. She became composed, the sudden stuttering, a half forgotten thought. Her eyes closed, and she breathed once, opening them again once she'd completed an exhale. "Rest well for tonight, Chopper," she said at last, a slight deviation from her usual farewell.

The Theelin did not look at him again, before she crossed the street and began her ascent up the stairs.

He waited until he could no longer hear her heels clipping against the steps, then turned and began to walk.

The greyish smudge of burgeoning dawn was growing in strength, and there was a muted pink beginning to fill the sky to counterpoint the grey. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear the rumble of garbage droids beginning their morning work, picking up the trash left in the dumpsters of the apartments or businesses nearby. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, tucked his head down, and began to walk.

Here and there, as he walked, beings would step out of buildings and hurry on their way, or out of houses in sleepwear, taking bags of trash down to the street for pick up, before scurrying back inside to avoid the chill of autumn weather at dawn. Angling down a side street and towards the flophouse he'd been sleeping at, he resisted the urge to pause, to look backward.

The pressure of eyes was on him. He could feel it. Surveillance. He was being watched.

He kept his pace steady, sparing a fleeting thought for the Theelin. Home, she was presumably safe enough, though that may depend entirely on who was following him and why. Coming to an intersection of streets, he turned left rather than right, and kept walking straight, leading whoever was moving so silently behind him away from the residential area. Clone hunters were a possibility; small fry locals thinking they'd steal from him a higher probability. There was also the option of the unknown, of an unexpected assailant.

The playground opened up before him as he moved past a shoulder-height duracrete brick wall. It was long since abandoned; the swing set lacked swings, the jungle gym was missing its' slide, and an arching ladder that led to the main platform was twisted on its' side, the platform's paint job peeling. Scrawny trees vied with weeds to sprout up through the pavement, brown and scraggly. A few benches, still intact, ringed the rectangular space, propped up against the stone wall surrounding the play area. Taller, healthier trees on the opposite side of the wall would have provided shade at a sunnier point in the day; beyond the trees, there were hulking buildings.

Chopper took ten steps into the playground. In one, smooth movement, he drew his pistol and spun.

The barrel was aimed perfectly between a pair of eyes, which blinked at him once. One of the brows above one of the eyes lifted wryly, and the man said, with the barest hint of amusement, "That's not going to be very effective on me, Chopper."

Captain Rex was fading into existence, and beside him, holding his hand as always, was Commander Tano. Light flickered around them, silver and sapphire, shifting like a bit of white light striking slow moving water. What remained of their physical bodies was washed out, the colors muted and overlaid by the watery hues. Chopper scowled at them both for a moment, before turning and stuffing his pistol back into its holster. He knew it was only a matter of time before these two showed up. They popped up at the ship every few weeks, delivering news, transponder codes, and leads on jobs. They'd learn he was gone, eventually.

"Everyone's been worried about you," Commander Tano said, and Chopper's scowl softened into a mere frown. She meant it, of course. Not just about his brothers, or the Captain, but herself as well. They were all worried about him. He ran a hand over his face, and dragged it back into a proper glare.

"Tup left."

Both Captain and Commander looked unimpressed by that. Captain Rex's face remained stone flat, and Commander Tano's worried expression became an irritated frown. A long moment of disapproval later, Rex snorted and shook his head. "Tup told everyone he was leaving. He didn't just disappear one day, and he's living somewhere safe. Jesse and Gus have been looking for you for weeks."

They didn't need to do that. Chopper turned aside and looked away. It was almost two years now, since the Republic fell. Two years of fighting and running, hiding in sight as plain as they could make it. Living like - living like clones on the run. It was what they were. But when Tup left, the dynamic changed somehow. It was as though the thought of living differently had been tossed between them. They didn't have to keep running. They didn't have to fight for a living.

They didn't even have to do it all together.

Their desertion had united them in many ways. Gus could be a d'kut with his head up his shebs, but he'd been through many of the same experiences Chopper had. Been a part of Slick's platoon. Knew about his propensity for chopping up bits of droids and hiding them away, of taking something back of what was lost. Gus had given him another outlet for that - it wasn't the same, but hauling bodies back - preferably living ones - was more satisfying than making grisly jewelry. Jesse had, in most ways, become their de facto leader in the aftermath of their desertion, flying the ship, checking on each of them, finding jobs, and seeming to enjoy it rather than merely accept it.

They didn't need to worry about him. But they did. It was strange. He shrugged, and heard Rex make a small, disappointed sigh behind him.

"It's good to know you're in one piece, Chopper, but can you at least tell us why?"

Tup left, and a rift formed. Perhaps it had always been there, waiting for the right moment to appear, to make itself known. They were brothers. The four of them had become accomplices in their desertion. A team as bounty hunters and mercenaries. But for all these things, they'd never fully become friends. They were brothers who worked together, fought together - would even die for each other - but they lacked that firm bond that some others had. They were not clones who were brothers by choice as much as by birth.

Tup left, and he found himself wondering what else was out there. Tup was hiding somewhere Captain Rex wouldn't say, but assured was safe and that Tup was not alone. Chopper didn't want to just follow Tup to some safe haven, most likely in some backwater Outer Rim world, to settle down somewhere, hide and be quiet.

He wasn't even sure exactly what it was that he wanted. More than running from one self-imposed mission to the next. More than spending his short life killing people on behalf of others. More than being a flesh-droid. More than chopping up bits of enemies to feel like he was getting something out of his life. More than a man who was known for being blasted apart too many times, until his body scarred over everywhere, and his brain got rattled and it turned him mean.

How could he say that? That he wanted more out of his life than to march the same line as all the others? That he wanted back something he'd never had in the first place? To not be looked at and known, even by memory, as deficient?

Captain Rex wanted to know why? Chopper shrugged. "I wanted to."

It was the first thing he'd ever done purely for himself. Not for the Republic. Not for the GAR. Not for his platoon, not for Jesse, or Tup, or Gus.

Commander Tano was expressing a mixture of puzzlement, dismay, and worry at his brief statement. Captain Rex, though, moved fleetingly through those expressions, until he settled on a final one: understanding. His face set, his chin tilted down a bit, his eyes grew serious, almost grim.

"It's a big galaxy, Chopper," he said, and Commander Tano looked at him for a long moment. His sternness seemed to settle her, and she sidled in a step closer to him, so that their arms brushed in a subtle statement of solidarity.

Chopper shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket and shrugged. "Always been big."

Captain Rex sighed - a strange affectation for someone without lungs, really - and looked him firmly in the eye. "Take care of yourself, Chopper."

Though he kept his focus on the Captain, he saw the look worry flash across the Commander's face, of how her lips were pressed thin and her eyes grew momentarily large before softening again. "We'll be around," she said.

Of course they would be. They were always turning up with random bits of information or guidance. He didn't need it. Didn't need the Captain or the Commander looking out for him, like he was a cadet or in the GAR and needed someone to watch over him, make sure he didn't screw it up.

And then the Commander smiled a little, and the Captain's stern look became something caught between relief and pride. He didn't need them to watch his back. But there were moments, he knew, when it was better not to be completely alone. To have someone able to distract him from memories and pain. To have someone to walk with.

He shrugged himself deeper into his jacket, though the air was not chilled enough to require more warmth. "Tell the others I'm fine." He paused, frowned, and looked away. "And I'll keep in touch."

Ahsoka's small smile spread larger, and Rex's tilted to the side, wryly, as he said, "We will. See you around."

They disappeared into the wash of pinkish light rising in the east, the watery silver-blue of their spirits melding into the day until they seemed like nothing more than a wide beam of sunlight hitting the dirty duracrete ground. And then they were gone.

Alone in the playground, Chopper breathed in the morning air, then set out into the day.

* * *

><p>He waited for her usual farewell, but did not receive it.<p>

The grey dawn had turned rosy, and the first hints of blue were grasping at the tops of trees and rooftops of buildings. The Theelin had paused, her face turned upward towards her building, her lips slightly parted, moving vaguely, as though words were trying to form, and failing. Her eyes closed for a long moment, and when she opened them again, they slid in his direction, and she spoke words that were not the usual ones: "Would you like to come inside?"

He wasn't so sheltered or removed from the world that he didn't know that phrase was often an invitation to more than an apartment. She was pretty, in the early light of morning, in a different way than she was on stage. Standing under the harsh lights during the night, she seemed laid bare, no shadows softening her features, her eyes a reflective gold and her voice a raw sound that brought all attention on her. Here, though, the shadows of the morning made her soft, drew out the greys and greens mottled in her skin, made her eyes something more natural. Her voice drew him to her, her face attracted him, her quiet presence when they walked made him unusually comfortable near her, as the days and strangeness passed. She asked nothing of him other than his company, and that was a thing few wanted. And it felt good, to be wanted.

But there was nothing of flirtation in her tone. There was no coyness, no attempt, however mild, at seduction. If anything, the slight tilt to her chin and puckering of her brows suggested a sense of uncertainty. She'd never asked anything of him but his company, so perhaps that was really all she was continuing to ask for now. The invitation to come inside was simply that. Though he had no idea what he was supposed to do inside her apartment, otherwise.

She was looking up at him, expectant. He gave her an answer. "Sure."

She didn't smile, but there was a moment of something like acceptance, and she nodded once as she turned away from him and towards the steps that led up to her apartment. Her heels clipped quietly against the duracrete as she crossed the street, then with a more metallic, hollow ring as she began to ascend the steps.

He followed her, a stride or two behind, and the long lavender braid of her hair swung low across her back in time to her steps as she climbed the stairwell. They went up four floors, then down the side of the building until they reached a middling door. She pressed her palm into the scanner in its center, and the light pulsed and sputtered beneath her hand as it verified her identity. Then there was a click, and a pop, and the door slid open with a scratching sound along the bottom track.

It was cool and dim inside, and he hovered in the small foyer, shuffling in behind the Theelin as she slipped off her towering shoes and moved silently across the floor. It was small, a single rectangle of a room with a battered old wooden folding screen partitioning off what he supposed must be a living area further in. He could see the shape of a computer sitting on top of a set of shelves, some clothes folded and stacked on the levels beneath it, and the bottom edge of a mattress on the floor, before it disappeared behind the screen. The walls were bare, grey, and had the feel of a place that had not been lived in long - nor would it be. The occupant lived with little baggage.

The door rolled shut behind him, forcing him another step forward to ensure he didn't get clipped by standing too close to the doorway. There was a pile of spike-heeled small shoes around the foyer, and he could only suppose that meant he was supposed to take his off, too. A moment later, he was standing in socks in the kitchenette of Noula Vaai.

She was standing on the opposite side of a small table from him, eyes slanted sideways, away from him and with her hands clasped at her waist. "I have some caf, if you would like some. It is Kavasa flavored. I have some juice as well. And breakfast items. Well, bread and gorfruit jam, at least."

So it was, then, simply an invitation for company. Though there was, he supposed, some part of him feeling vaguely disappointed, he did not feel surprised. And oddly, he felt strangely pleased at the invitation inside and offer of food. But he was still puzzled; the Theelin had, from the first day, made all overtures of friendship towards him. She knew he had nothing to offer her. Though he'd walked beside her, talked a little bit with her, he did not understand why she would want to do these things with him - she was liked and respected at the Narglatch, and he was - well, he was Chopper. There was no reason for her to invite him to walk, to invite him into her home, small and scruffy looking as it was, and try to feed him. As quiet and awkward as it felt at times, it was kind, and he'd received little kindness from anyone.

"Why are you doing this?"

The words were spoken before he thought them fully through, and somewhat more accusatory in tone than he really intended. Gus, Tup, Jesse - they were stuck with him for years because they were all in the 501st, because they deserted together, because they needed each other to survive. The Theelin had no such reason to want his company or to show him kindness of this magnitude, even if it was just caf and toast. She didn't know his background. Didn't know how he'd steal bits of droids, didn't know how he'd been a soldier or how he'd gotten his scars. Didn't know he was a fugitive running from the Empire, that his presence put her in danger, didn't know he had to keep running, or that when he listened to her sing, he could forget all that for just a little while.

The Theelin did not move, except to lift her gaze and meet his eyes. They were still green in the soft gloom of the kitchenette, and thoughtful. She closed them for a moment and released a small, quiet sigh. When she spoke, her voice carried the raw sound of her singing, but without the rise and fall of a tune. "I have seen people before, who are lost," she began, meeting his hard gaze with her softer one. "People who are searching for something, and looking in the wrong places. I have been such a person." Her gaze turned away, turned internal, reflective. "I am still such a person, though I am trying not to look in the wrong places any more. I have lost friends to self-destruction. Seen them lie down laughing and never wake up. I think, maybe, you are the same. When I saw you, that was what I thought." She lifted one hand into the air. Though she did not reach forward, did not cross the small space between them, her hand came parallel to the right side of his face, her palm and fingers cupping the air and unmistakably referring to the whitened, puckered scarring that webbed across his skin.

"I thought, maybe, that we are the same."

Her hand lowered, fingertips resting lightly on the tabletop, and her eyes lowered in accompaniment.

There was no way she could possibly understand. She was whole, intact, uninjured, a civilian - she was calm and quiet, everything he wasn't - the same? How could two people possibly be more different?

And then she looked up at him. She still seemed soft from the shadows that filled the kitchenette, but in that moment, he realized it was not the harsh, bright lights of the stage that made her face seem as raw or exposed as it was when she stood up and sang, but rather a shift in her expression. It was different, seeing that look on the face of a pretty Theelin woman rather than on one of his brothers', but it was the same; the look of someone who had seen suffering and had experienced it for themselves. Every man in the GAR learned their own way of dealing with it - for Chopper, the way had been taking something back. Of running mad on a battlefield, cutting down those that hurt him with near gleeful violence and making keepsakes as proof of what he'd reclaimed.

But there were others - others that grew silent and still and solemn.

She was a civilian, not a soldier. Whatever it was in her past was not battlefields and the constant strain of war. It couldn't be. But Noula Vaai had not gained such an expression of loss without experience.

As quickly as the resentment bubbled up within him, it died. He cut down droids and made grisly mementos.

Noula Vaai sang.

Maybe that was why he'd come to feel so comfortable at the Narglatch. Every time she took the stage, he could forget for a little while - but it wasn't just him. The crowd kept time, clapped and snapped fingers in rhythm, listened with respect. But perhaps it was also recognition. They all had things they wanted to forget. To move past. To move beyond.

She invited him in for breakfast because she didn't want to be alone either.

Chopper had never been much for touching. Kaminoans and medical droids poked and prodded at him, medics stabbed him with drugs on the field, patched him back up only to be deployed and blown up again. His brothers usually either stayed away or merely tolerated his presence. Except for maybe - maybe? Gus and Jesse and Tup. And the Captain. And the Commander, even if she wasn't a brother.

And the Captain and the Commander - they were dead, but even like that, they weren't alone. They always had a hand to hold.

Her hand was still resting lightly on the table. It wasn't a very elegant grab - he mostly just got her fingers, and even then, only three. His bigger hand overwhelmed hers, the light brown a strange contrast against the mottled greenish-grey of hers, and it seemed too warm and sweaty in comparison.

Her other hand appeared in his line of sight, overlapping his, gently prying it off the one he clutched at, and then sliding it more comfortably into his.

She thought that maybe they were the same. "Maybe," he admitted roughly.

When he finally brought himself to look at her, her hard expression had changed into a small, soft smile.

It took him several seconds, because it seemed he had forgotten how, but he managed, however awkwardly and faltering, to return it.

* * *

><p>Noula's voice is modeled on Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse. Winehouse's rendition of <em>Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow<em> is probably the best song to fit the chapter. Her name, FYI, is pronounced "New-lah".

Hope you enjoyed.

~Queen


	40. Bonus Epilogue 6

_Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_

* * *

><p>Bonus Epilogue 6.<p>

* * *

><p>There were so many choices.<p>

The glass screen stretched from one end of the room to the other, brightly colored graphics dancing across the translucent plate in a swirling flow of information. Their primary colors were so vivid, so garish, that they managed to stand out brightly despite the copious amounts of sunlight pouring warmly in through the window behind him. Every now and again, a cloud would slide by the glass, temporarily casting the room into a wash of shadow. Men and women of various species drifted through the room, most in small groups, others alone, to pause at the screen, flip something onto their datapad, and then depart.

Though most of the ads were written in Basic – it was the language most commonly found on the colony, after all – others such as Huttese, Mando'a, Rodese and Shyriiwook were all represented, the various shapes of the languages' letters and characters popping up and then shrinking away once the ads' algorithms realized his disinterest, only to bound further down the long board towards the next sentient being, doing their best to be noticed.

Gus was currently haloed in a cloud of multi-colored advertisements he was capable of reading. Most had to do with jobs – those that were not about jobs were about casinos, and the few that were not about jobs or casinos were primarily trying to get him to eat at their not-entirely-reputable cantinas, judging by the fact the ads were draped with underclad women.

"_Good eyes, man! Thanks_."

Frowning, Gus slid the cantina ads brusquely down the screen towards a knot of young miners, who seemed much more interested in eating and women than he was, leaving himself alone with the job ads and the casino information. He tapped a clear spot amid the adverts. "Pull up news from yesterday regarding casinos and robberies."

Under his fingertip bloomed a short article from the _Cloud City News_. He expanded its' size to something more readable with a flick of his fingers, and the article expanded on the glass, yellow letters glowing cheerfully. The title read, "_Arrest at Trest Casino_!" Gus scanned down the page a bit further and skimmed.

"…_the Trest is not the first casino to be hit by the mysterious slicer, but it appears to be the last. The suspect was placed in custody by the Wing Guard in the early hours of the morning…over 2.4 million credits have gone missing since the slicer's activities began six weeks ago…Wing Guards have yet to release a statement regarding the suspect, who is believed to be a…." _

Mentally, Gus finished the line for himself: _Sniveling little human computer genius_. He tapped the article again, and it folded in upon itself before disappearing back into the datastream with a flash. He and Jesse had a minor windfall earlier in the week, and had been at the Trest to deliver the data they'd been requested to acquire for their client. The client had been in a good mood due to a winning streak on one of the pazaak tables, and had given them a little something extra to spend.

"_Been trying to catch this guy for weeks. Name's Edian. You just in for a game or two and noticed it_?"

Jesse decided he was going to dump his something extra into the rattletrap ship he'd become so fond of. Gus decided he'd play a little sabacc himself, get a drink or two, and see if his luck held out. If it did, he'd go back with even more credits to spend. If not, there was a stage with some Zeltron dancers close by – one way or another, he'd have a fun evening.

"_I've got to ask you some questions about what you saw. For the investigation_."

His luck hadn't held out. But then, it hadn't actually been luck causing the problem. One of the players at the table was a young human male with the odd habit of tapping his temple just before the suits would shuffle. It was a small thing, easily dismissed as a nervous twitch – except for the thin white line of scar tissue that curved around the place his fingertip tapped, and the broken blood vessel just beneath it.

"_Sorry, but_ _I can't affirm or deny it was a modulated cheater device_."

Gus had folded early, gotten up, and found one of the Trest's security guards, relaying his suspicions. Had this been a small time casino elsewhere on the colony, Gus would have turned the guy inside out himself, but a big time place like the Trest wouldn't appreciate having one of its' sabacc tables torn apart by a pissed off former clone trooper. Besides, there was always the possibility their client would need their assistance again, and ruining his night by starting a fight on the casino floor would mean no more bonuses.

In exchange for helping security forces nab the slicer, he got his money back. And a peculiar suggestion.

"_We could use someone sharp on the Guard…heh, we could use all the help we can get, sometimes_."

And so now, Gus stood in front of the glass screen, with an open advertisement for the Wing Guard floating in front of him. There would be months of training, a final test to pass, orientation, and a year as a rookie as he learned more about the working of the colony.

A rookie. He hadn't been shiny for years.

It shouldn't sound so strangely appealing.

With a scowl, Gus tapped on the article again, watching it fold in on itself and dissipate on the translucent glass with a pop of yellow light. Ads idled around him, flickering and flashing, and he looked at the dim reflection of himself in the space left by the article. He'd aged, as they all had, during the last couple years since desertion. His hair, a mere stubbly buzz over his head, was streaked with grey. There were deep cut lines around his face, mostly slanting downwards and giving him a severe expression. They were different lines from Jesse's. Jesse's slanted more up than down. But then, Jesse smiled a lot more than he did.

Gus' scowl deepened momentarily, then softened into a sigh, and the pale reflection in the glass mimicked him.

He'd done well, at the casino. Though it'd been tempting to get into the slicer brat's face and accuse him directly, he'd kept his temper and reported it, instead.

It hadn't gone like that scene with Chopper, back in the day.

It felt good, to do it right. The table was filled with different kinds of people from different walks of life. Oh, a couple were the rich smarmy types with money to burn, but there were a couple others like him, a miner and an official-looking type, out for a nice evening with a bit of money to spend and dreams of luck. Smarmy or not, working class or not, none of them deserved to have some thieving brat with a cheater device take their money.

It felt good, to do it right. That rookie cop, Edian, even seemed grateful. Gratitude was nice. Recognition was nice. Respect - that was nice too. Never had that as a soldier. But then, cops weren't soldiers. Though security forces weren't always the most welcome sight in the galaxy, they were usually much more welcome than a few platoons of armed troopers.

Gus' eyes flicked to ad for the Wing Guard, and he used a finger to drag it into place in front of him. It was an open call. The image of his face overlapped the glowing blue and gold outlines of the advertisement. _Cloud City Wing Guard: To Protect and Serve_, it headlined.

A completely different objective from the GAR. Or the Imperial Army. Cops protected and served to create a sense of peace. Soldiers killed and destroyed to create that same feeling.

Protecting the Republic. It was what he thought he'd been doing for years. He'd been wrong.

He closed his eyes and whisked the ad away with a flicker of fingertips. It was just him and Jesse now, with Tup and Chopper gone their own ways. He and Jesse did more smuggling these days, more special, non-violent missions, than they did a year ago when there were four of them. He sighed, and his tone was more bitter than he expected when he mumbled aloud, "Jesse can't do it alone."

"Who says he'll have to?"

The words were a querying murmur just beside his ear, and Gus stiffened, then relaxed, as he recognized the voice, so like his own, but with a different inflection and tone. Slanting his eyes to the right, there was a faint ripple in the air, like heat on duracrete on a sunny day. It faded from the air and resumed on the screen a moment later, causing the electronic ads to sparkle and dance for several seconds. When they resettled, a pair of faces gleamed in the glass, reflections of beings that had no solid form.

Gus straightened. "Captain. Commander."

"Hi Gus," the Commander said, and in accompaniment, the Captain nodded his own greeting. "Thinking about joining the Wing Guard, huh?" the Commander added after a moment, smirking a little at him in a teasing sort of manner as she eyed the Wing Guard ad, now idling on the periphery of the advertisement cloud.

Gus shifted from foot to foot, sending a glance down the screen to his right, then his left. There were a few beings chatting down on one end, closer to the door, but they were not paying attention to him. A Snivvian to his left closed down his data array, buried his nose in his datapad, and ambled past Gus and towards the door. There was a Twi'lek couple standing at the window and enjoying the scenery and each other, entirely oblivious to anyone else's conversations.

Gus resumed his formal posture and addressed the two ghosts again, less concerned about being overheard or thought off-kilter for talking to the databoard. "Thinking only, sir. Joining would be inadvisable."

"And why is that?" the Captain asked, his brows slightly lifted. An ad for a tapcaf zoomed across his face, then bounced off the bottom of the screen and further on down the wall.

"As I said before, sir. Jesse can't do it alone."

"Can't, Gus, or shouldn't?" the Captain asked, and Gus paused, looking at his CO thoughtfully. If he left too, Jesse would be on his own, without any brothers to help him. It was bad enough Chopper and Tup ran off. They had to stick together, didn't they? At least some of them? That was how it always was. Or at least how it was supposed to be. Even if Chopper and Tup didn't seem to feel that way anymore.

Could he really leave the last of his brothers for a life of his own?

"You don't think we should stick together, sir?"

The two ghosts in the glass exchanged a look, then returned their attention to him. "Only if you want to, Gus," the Captain told him.

A cop. He could settle down a bit. Do what he'd wanted to do all along. Maybe not for the entire Republic, but for some of the people in it - or used to be in it, when it existed. He could actually do some good with his life. Bespin flew under Imperial radar for the most part. It was as safe as any other hidey hole, and a lot more interesting than a backwater. He had a forged ID that had made it through inspections before. With the Captain and Commander helping him make it through a background check, he could probably do it. He could settle down. Have something stable, where he wasn't constantly looking over his shoulder or worrying about where his next meal would come from. Hell, he could probably even have his own flat. He could have his own home.

Did he want all that? Yes. Yes, he did.

Could he just abandon his last brother, though?

"Talk to Jesse," the Captain said, and the Commander reached out towards the Wing Guard ad. With no real hand to touch the screen, she couldn't drag it back into place in front of him, but her pointed finger made it flicker and glow.

The words gleamed: _To Protect and Serve_.

It was a good motto. Solid. Strong.

Would it be so wrong, to do something for himself for a change?

He unhooked his datapad from his belt, touched the word Protect, flicked a finger, and let the ad flicker from the big screen to his small one.

* * *

><p>Jesse knew what Gus was going to say before he said it.<p>

Tup had the same look, when he stood before Gus, Chopper and himself and made his intent to leave known. Gus and Tup were almost as different as two brothers could be, but in the end, they were all clones with the same background, same origins, same sense of loyalty; leaving each other wasn't easy. It was another desertion, in a sense, and just as serious as leaving the GAR. It was probably part of why Chopper couldn't bring himself to stand up in front of them and announce his decision the way Tup did - Chopper was never sure exactly how much he belonged, even if he was just as much a brother as the rest of them. It was easier for him to disappear. Hopefully the d'kut had gotten it through his thick skull by now that he had friends, at least among the other three deserters. His occasional, if brief, messages about still being alive indicated that he had.

Either that or Rex and Ahsoka were haunting him into it.

Gus was too self-righteous for a disappearance. Even if he ever felt like an outsider, it wouldn't be proper protocol. That was why he had the same look of guilt, uncertainty, excitement and hope that Tup had when he stood up and pronounced he was leaving. If Jesse told him he was needed, he'd stay, regardless of what he wanted personally. He was holding his datapad in his hands, and the light from the screen was casting his face into a bright electronic glow.

It was hard to resist a smirk, but Jesse managed. His legs were dangling down into one of the access hatches built into floor, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. Their red trimmed astromech was up to its' dome in the next hatch over, scomp link slotted into the _Spectral Guard_'s computer as it upgraded the _Guard's_ pyrowall software. Swiping a grey rag from beside him, he began to wipe off what grease he could. It'd taken the better part of the day to get the new bank of power converters installed into the ship's ignition system. Their unexpected bonus had allowed him to make a few upgrades around the place he'd been wanting to do for weeks.

"Need something, Gus?"

Gus hesitated, deliberating, then began obliquely. "How are the upgrades going?"

Jesse scrubbed at a particularly persistent smear of grease on his arm. He really did need a shower. "Pretty well. Arthree's about done with the new pyrowall, aren't you, Arthree?"

The astromech whistled cheerfully, the scomp port turning a notch as the astromech continued its' work. Jesse grinned at the mech, then looked up at Gus, letting the indulgent smile fade into a more expectant one. "You're not here to talk about upgrades, though."

Gus looked away momentarily, took a breath and visibly braced himself, his shoulders moving back and his chin moving up. "I found a job."

Jesse set the rag aside, and toyed, momentarily, with the idea of playing dumb and asking him who their client would be, but Gus already looked plenty wound up about the idea of leaving like the others. He chuckled once, a little sadly. It would be lonely on the _Guard_ with only Arthree for company, but he'd manage. There was always the possibility of finding another, non-brother partner to help run things, though that was an intimidating prospect, considering he would always be at least somewhat at risk of discovery by the Empire. The chuckle devolved into a heavy sigh, and he swiveled on the floor, pulling his legs out of the access hatch and standing with a small smile. He spared Gus the teasing. "Yeah, I figured." He extended a hand towards the datapad, and Gus handed it over.

The advertisement was in bold blue and gleaming yellow, the words _To Protect and Serve_ patterned noticeably along the top. The image of a man in a security uniform stood dramatically at the bottom, hands tucked behind his back and his gaze looking proudly into the sun-and-clouds filled distance. Jesse resisted the urge to laugh. The photographed man looked just as stiff as Gus did when he was being serious - as stiff as he was in moments just like now.

"Bespin's Wing Guard, huh? Fancy yourself a cop?" He extended the datapad back.

Gus bridled a little, and Jesse waited for the man to relax a bit again. A moment later, Gus took the datapad out of Jesse's hand and held it a bit closer to his chest. "It's good work. Steady. Just a thought, though." Gus' eyes slid over towards Arthree, who was toodling quietly to itself as it worked. "Plenty to do around here, too."

And there was the heart of Gus' hesitation. Jesse folded his arms over his chest and said casually, "Yeah, maybe. There's always work around here. Still, you're right. Good work. Steady. Probably afford to eat a bit better on Cloud City than out in the black." He paused, tilted his head a bit to the side and smiled. "You'd make a good cop, Gus. Even if you'd look pretty stupid in one of those beanie hats they're wearing in the pictures."

Gus scowled at him for several long moments, then looked down at the ad and the proudly standing man. The scowl faded, and he shook his head with a wry grin. "Yeah, well, the hat'll show off my handsome face more than a bucket."

Jesse laughed. Gus was capable of humor on occasion.

He was going to be alone on the ship, save for the astromech. Jesse's smile faded into something more serious. He'd manage, but it would be so very quiet. There hadn't been a moment in his life when he hadn't had at least one brother with him. Was this what it felt like for Tup, for Chopper, and now for Gus? The prospect of being well and truly alone - no longer a part of a unit but instead an individual?

It was daunting, even if it was exciting, too.

Jesse extended a hand again, but this time, not for the datapad. Gus returned the gesture, and a hand the same size, shape and strength of his own met his palm in a firm grip. "Take care of yourself, Gus."

Gus nodded once. "I'll keep in touch." There was a slight emphasis on the "I'll," a reference to Tup's silence and Chopper's infrequent updates.

"I'm sure," Jesse returned as he released Gus' hand.

There was an awkward pause, and Gus shuffled in place once, then tucked his datapad onto his belt. "I'd better see about applying then. Get accepted to the training program and all."

"Not that it'll be hard, what with all the training you've got," Jesse said, feeling a bit of the grin return. Gus snorted and smiled a bit. That was, at least, one thing they never needed to worry about. There were plenty of dangerous people in the galaxy - and as Kaminoan clones and veterans of the Clone War, they were among those dangerous people. Gus would have no problem with the work he was setting out to do.

"I'll see you, before you take off then. Tomorrow?"

Another nod. "Was thinking around 06:00 but I'll stick around a couple extra hours if you need it."

"I'd appreciate that. I'll see you later, Jesse."

Gus paused again, turned halfway, looked over his shoulder, then turned completely away. His first step was slow, the second faster, and the third his usual brisk pace. The sound of footsteps receded down the corridor.

And Jesse found himself alone in the engineering bay.

Lights from the computer systems flickered on the walls, flashing on and off, many green, a few red, and most an idle orange, indicating that the systems were waiting to be used. The squat protrusion of the hyperdrive sat resolutely to his left, silent now that they were docked. How many hours had he spent here, in engineering, these last couple years? The _Guard_ was his - not just because he was the last one to want to stay with her, but because of the time he's placed in caring for her. She was completely different from an Umbaran starfighter, or from a Jedi shuttle, but she was his, and she was home.

Below and to his right, Arthree whistled a query, and Jesse shook his head. "I'm alright, Arthree. Just feeling very..." he wasn't sure what he felt. At home on the _Guard_ he felt content. This had become his place - he'd made it his. But it was quieter now, more than it'd ever been, and that didn't quite feel right either. It was just his imagination, he knew - he couldn't talk to the _Guard_ the way Arthree could - but he imagined she was happier with her hold full of cargo and her crew quarters filled. She was emptier than she'd ever been, since he'd spotted her on the dockyard and decided this was his ship. It would be nice, in some ways, to have some quiet. He could take whatever jobs he wanted, stay at outposts and colonies as long as he needed, not worry about anyone else. He could walk through crowds unworried that too many matching faces around him would cause an alert and a chase and a capture.

He was happy for Gus, finding something he wanted to do. Jesse felt content where he was. But alone too. Turning to the side, he stepped back a little and placed a hand on the stacks of sublight engines that lined the inner hull of the _Guard_. Like the hyperdrive, the casings that surrounded the sublights were silent and still, cool from disuse. It'd only take a couple minutes to get them warmed up, to take them out into the clouds, then the system, then punch it out into the black.

It was the change in light that let him know he wasn't alone.

The engine room was dim, except for the glow of the small lights on panels and computers. What light there was, was a steady fluorescent glow, mostly radiating upward from the open access hatches. The softer, floating cerulean hues that slowly washed up over the walls like sunlight on water were too displaced for the engine room, or for anywhere on a starship.

"I take it you already know?" Jesse asked by way of greeting, turning around to see Rex and Ahsoka, hand in hand as always, standing just inside the archway leading out into the main corridor. Arthree gave a startled whistle, its' dome spinning back and forth between the ghosts and Jesse, and the living clone smiled down at it. "It's alright. If you finished the pyrowall, run a diagnostic on the new converters. Nothing like blowing up as soon as we try to speed up."

The droid warbled once in reluctant agreement, sensors swinging several times back and forth between the ghosts and its' owner, before settling in to work.

It was always a little amazing, to see the two ghosts. They looked just as they did the last time he saw either of them alive, albeit more in one piece, which was ironic considering they were dead. Captain Rex was standing tall and square, looking for all the world like he was about to issue orders. Commander Tano, beside him, seemed more relaxed, with a small smile playing about her lips, and a sparkle in her eyes. Jesse knew these expressions too - they usually accompanied a bit of choice information, or a tip on a lucrative job. Something was up, and it wasn't just Gus deciding to stay on Bespin.

"About Gus trying to get into the Wing Guard?" Ahsoka asked, attention momentarily sliding up towards Rex. "Yes. He needed a nudge."

Of course he did. Jesse waited for the rest of it.

Ahsoka was looking entirely too devious at the moment, her lips curving upward into a playful grin. "Think you'll be taking on some new crew?"

Their appearance after Gus' departure, the look of expectation, the suggestion of new crew...it would still be a tricky thing, taking on new crew. "Did you have someone in mind?" He asked, keeping his voice bland, even if he couldn't resist meeting Ahsoka's gaze and returning her playful expression.

Her grin pulled back into a toothy smile, and she turned her attention from him up to Rex. "Two someones," Rex told him. "Old friends, actually. They're on their way to Mandalore at the moment. Their ship's busted pretty well beyond repair, so they'll be looking for some transport for the mission we gave them."

Two someones? Mandalore? Mandalore was a wilderness these days, spewing bounty hunters out into the galaxy and causing him no end of grief in avoiding them. The name of _Fett_ was being spoken again, in increasingly respected - and feared - tones. Though more importantly at the moment...two someones? "Who? And why Mandalore?"

The light around the ghosts intensified in pleasure, the soft blue iridescence of their spirits creeping into all corners and filling them with light. "Mandalore," Rex began, "because that's where a group of brothers have been hiding out with a fancy geneticist and a way of giving you a bit more time to roam around the galaxy."

Where Rex's words ended, Ahsoka's began. "As for who - well, I'm sure you remember the Commander of the 212th and my old friend Knight Offee."

Jesse became aware he was gaping when Ahsoka began to laugh and said to Rex with a nudge of her elbow, "I told you he'd be surprised."

Commander Cody and a Jedi Knight? _Together_? And _alive_?

"They're not expecting you yet, since we wanted to talk to you about it first," Rex said. "But there are other groups at work in the galaxy, looking to change things. Some are taking up against the Empire. Others are protecting hopes for the future. And some are looking to make things a bit easier for clones who have managed to leave the Empire."

Mandalore was a wilderness in the Outer Rim. Attempts to civilize it had failed. Even if there were bounty hunters out there looking to take him in - it could be a big planet. And if the Empire ever dared to try an occupation, they'd have a hell of a fight on their hands. In some ways, it would make a good hidey hole. Especially for some of the older clones, who had Mandalorian training sergeants on Kamino. Some might consider it a place they could adopt as a home.

And there was a Jedi alive. Another one, besides the little Togruta girl and the Jedi Master hiding on Shili. He looked at the two ghosts, incredulous. Had they saved another? And Commander Cody - Cody was well known for taking out General Kenobi. Why would a Jedi Knight be traveling with him?

Were there other Jedi then, than survived the purge? More deserters, beside Chopper, Gus, Tup and himself?

A few moments ago, he was feeling alone, adrift with only one option before him - continue drifting, working where he could and feeding himself and fueling the _Guard_. A decent life, if not a great one. Now, suddenly, possible futures seemed to be spreading out before him as quickly as questions. How many other brothers were there, away from the Empire? How many other Jedi survived? Who was taking up a stance against the Empire? How? What mission did Rex and Ahsoka give Commander Cody and Knight Offee? What did Rex mean by 'more time to roam around the galaxy'?

And most importantly - how could he be involved?

"What do you need me to do?"

The light around the two ghosts pulsed, tightened in closer to themselves, flickering in blue and silver, the cool shades seeming gentle and warm. "Head to Mandalore," Rex told him. "Find the Skirata clan. Help Knight Offee and Cody to deliver the serum the Skiratas have developed to Chopper, Gus, Tup - and the former trooper Tup's staying with, Cut."

"After that," Ahsoka added with a smile, stepping in towards Rex and pressing her arm against his, "well, that's your choice. Though just to warn you, Barriss and Cody are pretty well set on the whole "Let's rebel against the Empire" thing at this point."

A mission. A real mission. Not just a job, a way of feeding himself and the others for a little longer, but a real mission, with a goal and a purpose. He still didn't quite understand what the two ghosts were saying, about a serum, or why there was a Jedi working with a Jedi-killing clone commander to rebel against the Empire, but...he could make a difference again. This time, by choice. He wanted this mission, wanted to do what he was supposed to be doing all along - spending his life defending people. The Republic had failed. Failed him, failed his brothers, failed the people that had belonged to it.

But he could protect his brothers still. Could fight against not the Republic that failed him, but the Empire that betrayed him.

It felt like a new beginning, in a way. Tup, Chopper and Gus had all gone their own ways. He'd already found something of his, but his future seemed lacking when he tried to imagine it on his own.

Jedi and brothers and rebellions. It would be the start of something. Jesse wasn't sure what, but he could feel that it was. Something new was starting up. For the first time since he left Coruscant in a stolen shuttle, with three brothers and a crying little girl in the backseat, he felt something begin to stir within him.

A little bit of hope.

"I guess I have some passengers to pick up, then," he said with mock weariness. "Any more missions for me, while you're here?"

"No, I think that's all for now," Ahsoka said with equally exaggerated dismissiveness, followed by another grin.

"Good luck, Jesse," Rex added, with a more serious tone. "We'll meet you on Mandalore."

Their stances changed then, became more familiar and less formal. Rex's left hand, which gripped Ahsoka's right, switched places with his right hand, so that he could settle his left arm around her shoulders and pull her slightly closer, a proximity she did not seem adverse to. Tucking herself under his arm a bit, she fit her side into his, the upper tip of her right montral coming to a dark point just under Rex's chin. The auras of quicksilver that flowed, pooled and eddied around them seemed to merge, to glisten, to become brighter, more intense, more white, in the places where they touched.

Jesse was just a clone, nothing remotely resembling a Jedi, but in that moment he suspected he could feel what they felt. Pride, companionship, strength. During the years of their life, they'd never stood together quite like that. Now, though, they were enveloped in a light so brilliant it could light even the darkest places, and they seemed all the brighter for their togetherness.

Maybe someday he'd manage to find something like that.

The two ghosts leaned into each other so closely, light flickering intensely around them until it began to fade, their translucent forms becoming clearer and clearer, until they were nothing but a wisp of light and a memory, a warm, lingering presence in the arch leading into engineering.

Dead for years, and still fighting. It wasn't their fight - they'd earned their rest. It was up to him and others that were living to do what was right. To restore the Republic - not in its' corrupt form, but as it was meant to be.

Still, couldn't hurt to have a little supernatural help.

"Hey, Arthree? How's the diagnostic?"

A wary whistle let him know that the droid was still a bit put out by the ghosts, but also nearly done with its' work.

Jesse dropped down into the droid's access hatch and squatted, looking at the sentient-oriented interface, a small screen with a switch to activate a holographic keyboard. Small running lights ran along the floor, keeping the equipment sufficiently lit up for mechanical work. The three columned bank of power converters sat across from him, cables sprouting from their bases to run to the hyperdrive. Lightly, he placed a palm on the centermost of the three converters.

With Arthree running the diagnostic, the converters were activated. He could feel a deep vibration run up his hand, feel the hum and song of the _Guard's_ engines against his skin.

_I'm ready, let's go!_ The _Guard_ seemed to say, and he patted her once, affectionately.

"A little more work," he replied, "Tomorrow. We'll start a new adventure tomorrow."

And they did.

* * *

><p>There was snow on the ground of Mandalore.<p>

Flakes of the stuff, loose and powdery, blustered upward and danced into the frigid air as the ship's boarding ramp lowered on wheezing hydraulics and touched the frostbitten earth. Dead grass, black and pointy, poked up through the light blanket of snow, crunching under the feet of his greeting party. They were, of course, heavily armed.

Three of them were brothers; he could tell easily enough. There was a certain walk, a certain tilt of the head, a certain confidence that their cold weather hoods and scarves, goggles or helmets could not deny. They moved smoothly as a unit, all roughly the same size and breadth under their gear. One walked more heavily than the others, more warily, hanging back a few steps and serving as rear guard. He angled himself to protect both forward and back. One pushed forward with all the clear authority of someone well acquainted with command, placing himself well in front of the others in a more aggressive pose. The third seemed to be resisting the urge to shoulder the second out of the way, indicating he was used to leading, and was, for the moment, not. The fourth was a woman, just as swathed in winter gear as the others, but her blaster was already beginning to slant down, her posture to relax, and her indigo eyes, just visible above her scarf, to soften.

Jesse kept his hands open at shoulder height, showing their emptiness. "I believe you've been expecting me?" he asked, then twitched his hands towards his own headgear in a silent request for permission.

The man in the lead nodded once, silently, and flicked the business end of his blaster in a gesture of go-ahead. Slowly, Jesse placed his hands on either side of the goggles over his eyes, and pulled them up to rest on top of his helmet. Dry, cold air rushed at his eyes and stung his skin. Then he tugged down his scarf to reveal his face.

As he suspected, it matched those of the three men. One by one, blasters were lowered, faces revealed. He didn't know the first two men, but the third, and the woman - those he knew. The former commander of the 212th had also gained years on his face. The jagged scar running down one temple stood out, puckered and dark, against winter chilled red skin. The Jedi, too, had aged, and more strangely, was absent of the distinctive tattoos he remembered, tattoos a just a little like his, in that they once covered her olive colored face. He'd have to ask her how she got rid of them. It was a pain always having to cover up his Roundel, as much as he still liked it. She smiled a little, perhaps noticing his good humor, and he returned the expression.

It only took a moment, to descend down the _Spectral Guard's_ ramp, and hear the dead grass and snow crunch beneath his boots. A cold north wind blew through the group, but Jesse's smile didn't diminish in warmth, even after he turned his attention from the Jedi and onto his brothers.

He had questions - oh, lots of questions - about serums and plots to overthrow the Empire and how people survived and how they deserted in their own turn.

But right now, he had a mission to accomplish - or perhaps to begin.

He held out a hand. "I was told you needed a lift, Commander."

There was a long moment, when his brother hesitated. Then a gloved hand rose into the air, reached out, and clasped his.

* * *

><p>Music for this epilogue is <em>Diaspora Oratorio<em>, by Bear McCreary, from the _Battlestar Galactica_ soundtrack.

This is the last of the bonus epilogues for _Ahsoka Tano and Captain Rex Are Dead_. I hope you've enjoyed them.

* * *

><p>For all who have taken the time to follow this tale to its' extended ending, my thanks.<p>

_~Queen_


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